


Is This Madness?

by HTH31, sweetbutterbliss



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Angst, Beating, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Eames, Drugs, Feelings, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Frottage, Gay Bar, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Marijuana, Overdosing, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Secret Identity, Secrets, Sex Club, Voyeurism, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HTH31/pseuds/HTH31, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbutterbliss/pseuds/sweetbutterbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames has traveled all over America and has been largely unimpressed. California was too sunny for his rainy English soul. New England just made him homesick for England-England, with a clutch in his chest he chose to ignore. Austin had been alright, he liked how music spilled out of almost every doorway, and the legions of drunk college kids made for easy pickings. But ultimately, he'd realized it was all a thin cover, and much too conservative for him. New York was almost perfect, thanks to the tourists who were too busy pointing to notice the man who bumped into them, but it also jangled at his nerves, the city that never sleeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd and half written by [ Heather ](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This was Heather's idea, blame her. 
> 
> Title from the Muse song [ 'Madness' ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ek0SgwWmF9w)
> 
> Please, please pay attention to the tags. They are there for a reason.

Eames has traveled all over America and has been largely unimpressed. California was too sunny for his rainy English soul. New England just made him homesick for England-England, with a clutch in his chest he chose to ignore. Austin had been alright, he liked how music spilled out of almost every doorway, and the legions of drunk college kids made for easy pickings. But ultimately, he'd realized it was all a thin cover, and much too conservative for him. New York was almost perfect, thanks to the tourists who were too busy pointing to notice the man who bumped into them, but it also jangled at his nerves, the city that never sleeps.

 

That's how he found himself in New Orleans, perched on a stool outside a French Quarter bar. Here, he'd found music in doorways, easy drunk tourists, and peace and quiet. If he wanted, he could hike a few blocks over to Bourbon Street and get pissed, still able to lift a few wallets, maybe find someone to take home for a night; their sweaty bodies and drunken mouths colliding together like a spark of light. He could also go in the opposite direction, and find the dark and the quiet, staring up at stunning old houses that were full of ghosts and stories. He could always smell the sticky sweet smell of beignets, and the dark bitter smell of chicory. Underneath it was the smell of liquor and the faint sour smell of mildew.

 

He was supposed to be watching the door but no one ever came in before ten, and so he sat leaning against the brick, smoking a joint. The smoke swirled around his head as he exhaled in one drawn out breath, as he rubbed at his shoulder, aching from his most recent job. Some idiot who hadn't known how to use a gun. He supposed, actually, that he was pretty lucky the tosser hadn't aimed well, otherwise he'd be a hell of a lot more than sore.

 

They'd gotten the information they needed in the end, they'd found out who was stealing from the boss. Skimming a few bricks here and there, hoping no one had noticed. Eames had gritted his teeth through the pain and held steady until the man had confessed, begging for his life, grovelling and talking about his wife and kids. Eames hadn't had much sympathy as he wiped the other man's blood from his face. What kind of asshole gets involved in this life when you have a family at home? His family deserved better, and Saito wasn't a callous man, he'd see to it that they were taken care of. So, no skin off Eames' back.

 

He let the smoke clear his head and dull the pain a little. The night was steamy, and he was sweating through his t-shirt. He considered leaving his post to get a bottle of Dixie beer, it was American swill, but it was cold American swill. What he wouldn't give for a bottle of Camden Hells. He flicked the roach out into the street and stood, wincing when he put too much weight on his bad side. Before he could step inside, he spotted a figure ambling down the pavement, running their hand along the wrought iron fencing. When he stepped into the circle of light from the street light, Eames smirked and figured he should settle back onto his stool for this one.

***

 

The stranger had a wide open baby face, making him look all but sixteen if he was a day. He was wearing tight, honest to god, leather pants, and boots that laced up to his knee. The pants were being dragged down by a heavy belt buckle, exposing his sharp hipbones and a smattering of hair; there was no way that he was wearing any kind of underwear underneath those pants. Eames felt his dick twitch, and licked his lips, he felt a bit like a dirty old man, but it wasn't the worst thing he'd done this week. The boy wasn't wearing a shirt, and his chest sparkled with glitter and sweat. Eames curled his hands into fists at the sudden bolt of want that shot through him. He couldn't do much with his injury, but he wouldn't mind laying back and letting this one do all the work.

 

The boy tucked an errant brown curl behind his ear, and tried to edge past Eames into the dark bar. Eames reached out and grabbed the boy's bird like wrist, reeling him back until he was standing in the V between Eames' spread thighs.

 

"I'm going to need to see some ID, darling. It's the law." Eames smiled, leaning into the boy. He knew that the drinking age in New Orleans wasn't something that was strictly enforced, but this one was too pretty not to mess with.

 

"Do you now?" His voice was deeper than expected, and Eames adjusted his guess to at least nineteen or twenty. The boy dropped his hands to Eames' thighs, his palms pressed high up, and his thumbs tucked into the crease of Eames' groin. His breath stuttered as the boy leaned forward and licked his little pink mouth, moving his hands so they brushed against Eames' stiffening cock. Eames brought his hands up to the boy's hips, his hands full of bare skin and sharp bones. He pulled the stranger forward against his cock, and smiled as he felt his hard on rub against the stranger's own. He licked the collar bone, ignoring the bitter taste of the lingering glitter, and sucked until a bruise blossomed across the pale skin. The boy put his hands on Eames' neck and turned his face up, pulling sharp at his short hair. Eames rubbed circles on the boy's hips with his thumbs, and as he dipped below the waistband, he ran a finger over the slit of the boy's erection, smearing pre-come across his stomach. He felt fingers clutch his hair tighter, and sat up straighter to kiss him. Their mouths met, wet and a little sloppy, and Eames tasted whiskey and sugared icing as he swiped his tongue into the other mouth.

 

The boy pulled back, his chest heaving, and his mouth swollen and red. He pet the back of Eames' head and smiled. He had deep dimples on both cheeks that transformed his face into a brilliant, almost innocent, sweetness that forced Eames to smile back and bring a hand up to thumb one of them.

 

"My name's Arthur. And I promise you, I'm more than old enough." He grabbed Eames hand and sucked two fingers into his mouth, still smiling. Eames groaned, his mind whirling around the confusion of this baby face sucking him down messily.

 

"Eames. My name's Eames." he managed to gasp. Arthur pulled the fingers out with a wet pop.

 

"Hello, Eames. As fun as this has been, I'm here to meet someone."

 

"Oh darling, you have to forget about them and come home with me. Trust me, I'll show you a much better time." Eames shamelessly begged, tucking his fingers into the leather waistband, and pulling Arthur forward against his chest.

 

Arthur laughed and disentangled himself gently.

 

"I believe you. But I really have to make this particular meeting. I'm here to meet a man named Saito."

 

Eames pushed back so fast he almost toppled his stool over. If this man was meant for Saito, then Eames could get his dick cut off just for thinking about looking at Arthur. He was horny, but he wasn't that fucking horny. And there were a million leather clad little twinks all over the city that he could have. _Not like this one,_ his traitorous mind supplied. He shook his head and stood, stepping out of Arthur's space. He was quite partial to his cock, and wasn't interested in getting on the bad side of his boss. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him.

 

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." Eames held his hands up, and kept his distance.

 

"Didn't know...?" Arthur crossed his arms, his expression faintly amused.

 

"That you were meeting Saito. He's inside, if you just ask Jimmy at the bar, he'll show you the way upstairs." Eames grit his teeth and attempted to will away his still-throbbing hard on. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching back out toward Arthur. _What the fuck is wrong with you, mate?_ he silently berated his dick, begging it to get with the program. 

 

Arthur stepped forward and pushed his palm against the shape of Eames' dick through his jeans. Eames gasped and put his hands on Arthur's shoulders to steady himself as Arthur leaned forward until they were chest to chest again.

 

"You don't want this?" He whispered, his mouth hot against Eames' ear.

 

"N--no." Eames stuttered, and shut his eyes tight, as Arthur pressed harder against Eames' cock and rubbed.

 

"You, Mr. Eames, are a fucking liar."

 

Then he was gone, leaving behind only the smell of whiskey and sweat. Eames opened his eyes and watched his back until he disappeared into the dim doorway. Eames slumped and pressed his hands against his eyes, settling himself back on his stool. Now he really needed a beer, but he wasn't about to go inside right now. He sighed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He decided that once he was off, he was finding the first skinny bloke he came across and fucking them right where he finds them. He felt better after that decision, and shoved the memory of Arthur to the back of his mind. His only remaining thought was that Saito was a pretty lucky guy, the wanker.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although, this brief glimpse of intelligence did nothing to help his willpower. A pretty mouth and large biceps were one thing, smart and thoughtful were a whole other level of hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heather wears many hats, beta, co-writer and Bane jack o lantern carver. 
> 
> Go visit her [ tumblr ](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com/) and help to fuel her sad addiction.

Eames knew he was a little hungover, maybe not firing on all cylinders, but that was a pretty common occurrence for his mornings. It was pretty much par for the course, so that didn't explain away what he was seeing.

 

He rubbed sleepily at his eyes with one hand, and risked another glance. No, the man was still there, sitting next to Saito. Eames sighed, deciding that maybe he should skip the drinks tonight, and go to bed early, because he was obviously going crazy. The man sitting next to Saito looked exactly like the boy, Arthur, from last night. Except that it couldn't be.

 

This man was dressed in a charcoal three piece suit, and a dark red tie tucked in under his waistcoat. He had it all covered up with a tan trench coat, as though he'd just walked out of some old film noir. _The part of the hard boiled detective, played by...Arthur the twink._ His hair was slicked back in a way that he probably thought made him look older, but only brought attention to his sticky out ears. He was frowning at Eames, who realized he'd been gaping at the poor man like some kind of half wit.

 

Saito raised an eyebrow and inclined his head towards the seat on his right, across from Arthur-Not-Arthur. Eames dropped into the chair and tried to tie the threads of his composure back together, although the hangover was making it a little harder than usual.

 

"My apologies, Mr. Saito. Had a busy night." He leered, and was gratified when Saito smiled back indulgently.

 

"Quite alright, Mr. Eames. I know that this is quite a bit earlier than you usually grace us with your presence."

 

"It's 10am." The man blurted out.

 

"Ah yes, but our Mr. Eames tends to be a bit of a...night owl. If that's the correct term?" Saito spoke without taking his eyes off Eames.

 

"Yes, sir. That's me. You do keep me quite busy until very late." He flirted a bit, knowing it pleased Saito. Saito rarely flirted back, but always seemed to enjoy the way Eames could make most things sound dirty.

 

Saito actually enjoyed a lot more about Eames once or twice. He never demanded anything, but Eames was happy to get on his knees for him. He'd actually been kind of curious at first whether Saito's come would taste like money, or something rich. Turns out it was just salty and a little fruity. Saito had quickly jerked Eames off afterwards, almost indifferent. His bored expression had, to Eames' surprise, been what brought his orgasm punching out of him. 

 

The other man was flicking his eyes back and forth between Saito and Eames, a confused wrinkle between his eyebrows, and a scowl on his pretty face.

 

"Down to business then, gentlemen." Saito turned his chair and placed his palms on the dirty, scarred table. Eames had always been impressed with the way that Saito managed to make a dirty room above a bar seem like the highest corporate boardroom. He did it with nothing but his attitude. That was the sign of someone who had power and used it effortlessly.

 

"Mr. Eames, this is Arthur Levine. He's brought some very interesting information to me."

 

Eames squinted suspiciously at Arthur's hand, before grasping it and pumping it once, quickly and firmly.

 

"You wouldn't happen to have a twin, darling?" Eames still couldn't bring himself to believe that this was the same Arthur.

 

"No, Mr. Eames. Just me, I'm afraid." Arthur shrugged, then grinned. At the sight of those dimples, Eames knew that this was the same man. He was stunned, not very many people managed to surprise him. In that moment, his simple lust for the man twisted and became something far more intrigued.

Saito brought the attention back to himself with a quiet cough. Eames swivelled his chair around and schooled his face in a listening expression, but his thoughts took a little more effort to control. He missed the first part of Saito's speech through imagining Arthur, dressed in only the trench coat, coming to visit him at his flat.

 

"The Rollin' 20s seem to be an actual threat." Saito's words finally filtered in.

 

"Wait, I'm sorry? The Rollin'...whatsits?" Eames sat up a little straighter, leaning on the arm of his chair.

 

"Mr. Eames, please try to pay attention. The Rollin' 20s are the people encroaching on our territory." Saito explained.

 

"The Rollin' 20s. They're taking the piss, surely? What's next...the Jets, the Sharks? Are we going to have to practice choreographed numbers with switchblades? I must warn you, my singing voice is not Broadway quality." Eames grinned at his own cleverness, turning to Arthur to share in the joke. Arthur only glared at him and sighed heavily.

 

"Mr. Eames, the Rollin' 20s are not a joke." Arthur stabbed his finger into the table top to make his point.

 

"They're dealing product that's tainted. They're killing off kids. Just this last week, five were found in alleyways. I've found their distribution point, but we don't know who their boss is."

 

"Normally, I wouldn't involve myself in the death of a few street rats, but this many is bad for business. Not only can dead men not buy drugs,but the police have been sniffing around. Also, as Mr. Eames pointed out, what a ridiculous name. " Saito steepled his hands and sniffed, as though he was personally offended by it.

 

"Uhh...well. The name is really irrelevant." Arthur looked as though he'd swallowed a lime, his face twisted in confusion, like he wasn't sure if they were fucking with him or not.

 

"Mr. Levine, do not presume to tell me what is relevant and what isn't. I do appreciate your information, but I must admit you haven't earned any trust just yet. That's where Mr. Eames comes in. He's to show you the ropes and keep an eye out for you. He's also quite adept in situations that may need a heavier hand."

 

"A heavier hand?" Arthur asked.

 

"Yeah, mate. I tend to do the heavy lifting. If you need muscle, or even a loaded gun to back you up, I'm your man."

 

"And you're proud of that?" Arthur's lip curled in disgust.

 

"It's my job. You have to do your job right, innit?" He shrugged, ignoring the stab of embarrassment at the other man's obvious derision. He _was_ bloody proud of it. It may not be the best, or most prestigious job, but he was the very best at it and that's all that mattered. People would be knee deep in rubbish, if he didn't take it out once in a while.

 

"He's quite good at his job, Mr. Levine. And I wouldn't be so dismissive; he's the one who will be protecting you if something should happen. Not to mention, reporting back to me on your activities. "

 

"That's right, pretty boy, we're going to get real close." Eames beamed, as Arthur's mouth thinned into almost nothing."

***

Arthur stepped into the dim nightclub, his eyes adjusting to the smoke and spilling golden light. A three piece band played quiet jazz in the corner as a couple swayed their bodies to the music, hips swivelling and arms snaked around each other's waists. Arthur knew that he'd left the tourist part of town blocks and blocks behind him, but the club was really something else. Eames had talked him into meeting here, at The Blue Note, because he'd insisted that no activity, especially not drug smuggling, would happen before it was fully dark anyway. _Why not get a drink, darling?_ He'd breathed into Arthur's face, before adjusting Arthur's collar and leaving in a rush.

 

He caught sight of Eames almost immediately, but it took him a moment to actually recognize him. Somehow, this loud English man was managing to blend in with all the rich Southern voices around him. His lap was full of a breathtaking woman, her eyes glinting in the darkness. Arthur could see Eames' hand reaching up past her skirt, and the woman swatted him, but didn't move his hand. Eames had his other hand on the back of her neck, and her head was bent to listen to something...a steady stream of words falling from Eames' lips; a toothpick rolling around in his perpetually smirking mouth. Arthur imagined what that already rough voice would sound like in bed, whispering in his ear. His chest squeezed as Eames looked up and caught him staring. He gave Arthur an exaggerated wink and pointed him toward the bar, holding his finger up to signal that he'd only be a minute.

 

Arthur sighed, and made his way to the bar on the far side of the room. The room was maybe a quarter of the way full, yet it had the same atmosphere as a party. As though the small club had had so many wild nights that it'd soaked into the very brick and wood, lingering even in the quiet moments. After it filled up it would be hot and crowded, the door flung open, letting in the sweltering summer air as strangers danced and pushed up against each other. Eames was right, it _was_ a good club. It was one of those things that Arthur could just tell, feel it in his bones. 

 

The bartender was idly wiping down the bar with a rag, but he lifted his chin as Arthur approached. He was a huge man that, at first, could be mistaken for fat; Arthur wasn't fooled though, he could see the power in just the man's arms as he leaned over the bar. He had a cigar clenched between his teeth, rolling it to one side of his mouth to speak to Arthur.

 

"What can I get you?" His voice was buttery and ridiculously deep. Arthur had the distracting thought that it must have to travel a long way up and out of his huge frame, coming from such depths.

 

"Just a club soda, please." Arthur smiled politely, trying not to look back toward the corner to where Eames was seated. Arthur had no desire to know what he was up to, yet he had to make a distinct effort to prevent his head from turning, as though he wasn't in control of his body.

 

The bartender just stared blankly at him, the edges of a smile creeping in around his cigar. Arthur wrinkled his brow in confusion and repeated himself. The man still didn't reply, just leaned against the back shelf and puffed smoke out in Arthur's face.

 

Arthur had been working so hard not to even so much as glance at Eames, that he didn't notice he'd allowed the man sneak up behind him.

 

"Darling, Martin doesn't serve any kind of soda. You'll have to have a real drink, or nothing at all." Eames leaned too close, and tapped his glass on the bar. Martin took it silently and refilled it with a dark amber liquid, and Eames pushed it towards Arthur, asking Martin for a second. 

 

"What is it?" Arthur asked, sniffing at it suspiciously.

 

"Whiskey. And not the terribly good kind, either" Eames grinned sharply, throwing his glass back and turning it upside down on the bar.

 

"We're supposed to be working, Eames." Arthur whispered with an angry hiss.

 

"Relax, Arthur. Are you such a lightweight that you can't handle one drink before sitting in a car for the entire night?" Eames put his hand around Arthur's and brought the glass up, stopping just inches from Arthur's mouth. Eames was radiating heat, and his hand smelled faintly of women, sweat, and sex. That, more than anything, made him take a gulp. The whiskey burned as it slid down his throat, and he spluttered, coughing into the glass and spilling some over the edge onto his hand. 

 

"Oh pet, lemme get that for you." Eames took the wet hand and, without taking his grey eyes from Arthur's brown ones, he sucked the fingers into his mouth, curling his tongue around them. He let them fall from his lips with a loud, wet, smacking sound, and all Arthur could do was blink at him. 

***

The house they were supposed to be watching was maybe once very pretty, a family home. But time, and indifference, had turned it shady. Its wide front porch was sunk in the middle and missing a few steps on the way up, its paint flaking, and the shutters hanging haphazardly off the window frames.

 

There were three cars parked willy-nilly on the grass outside. Arthur slowed down and parked at the curb a few houses down. His dilapidated Oldsmobile fit in with ease. He turned off the engine and pushed his seat back, stretching his long legs out further. Eames had made himself comfortable as soon as he got in the car, he didn't sit, so much as sprawl across the whole seat. He seemed to take up all the air and space at the same time.

 

"So how long have you been in N'Awlins?" Eames drawled out the last word in slow tones of a native Southerner.

 

"We're not here to socialize, Eames." Arthur scowled, and turned his head pointedly back toward the house. Still no movement.

 

"Right, because if we take our eyes off it for one second, the building might up and wander off." Eames laughed sharply. 

 

Arthur twisted his body so he could see enough of the house to make him feel like he was doing his job, and still be able to see Eames. Eames had turned so his back was resting against the door, one leg bent underneath him. He'd rolled down the squeaky window a crack, and was tapping a pack of cigarettes on his thigh.

 

"Care for a fag?" He grinned viciously, as Arthur blanched and sputtered. "You uptight Americans. Not me, love. Although that offer is open as well." He cocked his hips up and licked his lips, before placing his smoke between them. He tilted forward and cupped his hands around it as he lit it with a match. He extinguished the match with a quick flick of his wrist, and tossed it out the window. 

 

"So, you haven't answered my question. Are you new in town?"

 

"Yeah, about three months." Arthur refused to look directly at Eames. He was usually able to separate work and pleasure. Eames though, his effortless sexiness made that separation kind of difficult. Just sitting there, sprawled out in the car, fidgeting with his shoelace, Arthur wanted to suck his cock without permission. He wanted to hold him down at the hips and just take him down to the root. _Fuck._

 

"...show you around some time?" Eames was still talking, but Arthur hadn't caught much of it. He searched for a topic to distract himself.

 

"So, I heard this isn't a great neighborhood." He ran his hands down the steering wheel, keeping an eye on the thus far, empty house. _Wow, really Arthur, the place where the drug dealers live, couldn't possibly be bad. Stupid._

 

"Oh, well. I don't think it's so bad." Eames talked with his hands, his cigarette dangling between two fingers, making smoke patterns in the air. He sat up a little straighter to make his point. "It's not a _great_ neighborhood. But for example Canning Town isn't great either. If you're in the money making business, see. The money makers in cites want the tourists to spend their money in the wealthy areas. In New Orleans, they want people concentrated in French Quarter and places like that. So they make it seem that if you venture further than Bourbon Street, you'll get mugged by all the evil non-white people. So you stay safe and you spend money, and the poor are kept out of sight, right?" 

 

Arthur nodded, a little stunned. He hadn't expected that level of thought from someone who was supposed to be just the muscle. He felt a little ashamed that he'd underestimated the man. He'd taken him at face value; crooked teeth, tattoos, and broad shoulders, and immediately written him off as some kind of thug for hire. He was man enough to admit that he might be wrong. 

 

Although, this brief glimpse of intelligence did nothing to help his willpower. A pretty mouth and large biceps were one thing, smart and thoughtful were a whole other level of hot.

 

Eames rotated his arm and winced. "The way I see it is...it's all about common sense, innit? You don't go walking around in the dark by yourself in most places, right? If you're enough of a wanker to go walking around the dark with money in your pocket and nothing to defend yourself with, then you deserve to get mugged. "

 

"And that wouldn't happen to you?" Arthur smirked, already knowing the answer.

 

"Too right it wouldn't." Eames slapped his palm against the dash for emphasis. He gasped, and grabbed at his shoulder, but when Arthur raised an eyebrow in question, he just casually waved it off. 

 

"Is that where you're from then, Canning Town?" Arthur asked, wary of Eames' reaction to being asked a personal question.

 

Eames looked at him, face blank, for a few painfully silent seconds. Just as Arthur was going to take it back, assure Eames he didn't have to answer, Eames finally opened his mouth. 

 

"Yeah, East London. Not the nicest place in the world to grow up...not a lot of opportunity to get out, y'know?" He finally answered, watching Arthur for any kind of reaction, negative or otherwise. 

 

"So how did you? Get out, I mean." Arthur prodded.

 

"I said not a lot of opportunity, not 'no opportunity.' All depends on what you're willing to do." Eames smirked, a sinister grin creeping across his face as he flicked his cigarette stub out of the window, twisting his arm in the process.

 

He inhaled sharply and clutched at his shoulder again, scrunching his face up in pain.

 

"What's the matter with you?" Arthur asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

 

"Nothing for you to worry about. Got shot the other day. Still sore. I took some painkillers but they don't seem to be working." He massaged his shoulder, his face twisting as he made contact with it.

 

Arthur itched to take a look at it. He managed to refrain himself by gripping the wheel a little tighter.

 

"So, who's the real Arthur then?" Eames rested his head back against the window with a thunk and held onto his shoulder. Arthur didn't know him well enough to be sure, but it sounded like he was in pain and his words might've been slurring at the edges.

 

"I'm not sure what you mean. Are you sure you're okay?"

 

“Yup. Right as rain. Although I do appreciate your concern. Maybe we can play nursemaid later?" His laugh was weak. "What I mean is...you come to the bar all 'Arthur the twink' and then the next time I see you, you're...this Arthur."

 

" _This_ Arthur?" He raised an eyebrow, trying not to be offended by the twink comment. After all, that _had_ been what he was going for at the time.

 

"Yeah, you know what I mean. Trenchcoat Arthur."

 

"Trenchcoat Arthur. Okaaay. It was just a costume. Twink Arthur, I mean." He clarified. "I was just playing a role to get information."

 

Eames laughed quietly. "A role? Seemed pretty convincing to me."

 

"Thanks, I guess." His sole focus was now Eames, the house completely forgotten. Eames' skin looked a little grey under his tan. It could've be the streetlight though, so Arthur reached up to turn on the overhead light. No, still grey, and he looked like he was falling asleep, his long eyelashes fluttering in the hollows underneath his eyes.

 

"Eames, how many painkillers did you take?" Arthur grabbed his knee and shook it.

 

"I don't remember, darling. Maybe 5? No, that was the number of whiskeys I had."

 

Realization slowly dawned on Arthur. "Eames, you took pills and then drank alcohol?"

 

There was no reply from Eames, and his eyes were now completely shut.

 

"Damn it, Eames. What the fuck is the matter with you?" He crawled over Eames and slapped him, maybe a little harder than he needed. Still no response.

 

He settled back onto his own side and hitched his seat forward. As he started the car, a light came on in the house. Two figures stepped out carrying boxes, and started loading them into the back of one of the cars. A red Honda Civic. _Not the flashiest of drug dealers, but at least he knows how to blend in._

 

Arthur watched them in dismay and turned back to Eames. His breath was shallow and his skin was quickly turning from pale and grey to a sickly yellow color under a sheen of sweat.

Arthur couldn't decide what to do. He might have time to follow them, just to see where they were headed, but he wasn't sure if Eames was about to die on him.

 

 _What a stupid motherfucker._ Arthur cursed to himself as the Civic pulled out of the yard and headed right. "Goddamnit!" Arthur shouted out loud and eased out of his spot, heading in the same direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](http://sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com/), also addicted.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames frowned and leaned against the window, glad for a moment to get his emotions in check. He tried to dissect exactly what it was he was feeling. He knew he wanted to fuck Arthur senseless, or be fucked by him; Eames was flexible. That was the simple part. He just had to work a little harder than with his usual conquests, but that didn't phase him much either. A challenge might be nice for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co written and beta'd by Baron [ Heather.](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com/) Any remaining mistakes are all my own.

The street light spilled into Arthur's tiny apartment, illuminating Eames sprawled out on his equally tiny single bed. Arthur was curled up in an arm chair, watching the other man's chest rise and fall. His breath had evened out from its earlier laboring, and he was regaining a normal, healthy color again. Arthur still kept vigil, perhaps less out of residual worry and obligation, and more for his own guilty pleasure. He'd debated with himself about removing Eames' clothes, until he'd woken up long enough to throw up on himself, ending that dilemma. Arthur had sighed heavily and readjusted the man on his shoulders, beginning the slow climb up the two flights of stairs.

 

He hadn't known what to do for Eames. He'd sat at the crossroads, despairing as he watched the Civic's headlights fade in the distance. He knew that it wasn't an actual decision, he didn't have to think twice. Not that he gave a shit about Eames, he barely knew the man. He just didn't feel like trying to dispose of a dead body, and maybe his car. He liked his car. Also he wasn't thrilled about the idea of trying to explain to Saito that Eames had died on his watch.

 

He just wasn't sure what to do to help the man. He couldn't take him to a hospital without causing suspicion. He needed somebody who could fix things without making it worse.

 

So, he called Saito.

 

Well, he called Tadashi, Saito's assistant, who directed him to the shadiest doctor's office Arthur had ever seen. To call it an office would have been generous, Arthur had seen cleaner back alleys than this place. The doctor was rumpled, and Arthur was sure he could catch the pungent whiff of stale alcohol on him. He'd said there wasn't much he could do for the possible overdose. _Just watch him, and make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit._ He'd let out a laugh, but stopped abruptly when he noticed Arthur's frown and narrowed eyes. He'd also declared Eames' wound to be infected and gave Arthur an unlabelled bottle of antibiotics. Arthur rattled them suspiciously, as though he could tell if they were legit by the sound they made.

 

He managed to persuade the doctor to help him get Eames back to the car with the flash of a few extra fifties. He'd suggested Arthur bring Eames back in a week to check the wound again. It had taken all of Arthur's strength to bite back his reply behind gritted teeth. _Yeah okay, like I'm going to bring him back to the guy who probably gave him the infection in the first place. No way, buddy._

 

***

 

Arthur pulled his armchair closer to the bed, so that he could monitor Eames' breathing more closely. That's all. He'd stripped Eames' soiled clothes off, but left him in his black boxer briefs, and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to stare at his mostly naked body. _Well, the doctor did say to watch him._ Arthur, comforted by the logic, gave up the fight, and let himself stare.

 

Eames was broad, barely contained on the bed, and he slept spread out on his back; one knee bent and an elbow flung over his eyes, his open hand twitched a little. Arthur wondered if he was having bad dreams. Like when a dog twitches its legs. He reached out and carded his hand through Eames' tufts of sandy hair. It seemed to help soothe him, Eames let out a soft sigh and shifted closer to Arthur's hand. Arthur continued his ministrations and let his eyes roam further. Eames was built, but it wasn't the kind of body you get in a gym, it was a brawler's body; thick and muscled from actual use, not hours of pretentious grooming. He had quite a few scars mixed in with the ink scrawled across his skin. Arthur reached out and ran his finger over a particularly vicious one cutting across his ribs. He pulled both hands back, realizing how creepy he seemed. _Way to molest the man in his sleep, Arthur._

 

Eames' eyes fluttered, and he groaned, shifting his head restlessly from side to side. Hesitantly, Arthur reached out again and gently rubbed his fingers against Eames' head, who immediately stilled and let out another sigh. Arthur smiled and kept up the rubbing this time. He allowed his eyes to quickly skip over the man's torso, and he bit his lip as his face heated up. His gaze wandered back up to Eames' sleeping face, and he curled his fingers in and out, thinking about touching again. 

 

He shook his head and laughed at himself a little. He _really_ felt like creeper now. He made himself more comfortable and closed his eyes. If he didn't look, he wouldn't be tempted. After much emotional warring with himself, he eventually fell asleep, his hands still tangled in the other man's hair.

***

Eames had woken up in plenty of strange, and occasionally dangerous, places. He'd long ago cultivated a wait-and-see approach in these situations. He immediately knew he wasn't in his own bed; he kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady, while he tried to remember what might have happened the night before. There had been the redhead at the bar, he was almost positive he hadn't gone home with her though. The bed smelled familiar, although he still couldn't place the scent, and he could hear someone banging around in the next room making kitchen noises; the sound of a male voice humming.

 

He slowly opened his eyes, body tensing for any surprise attacks. He relaxed when he saw he was alone in the room. He stretched, idly wondering where his clothes were, and felt old injuries pull and pop, letting out a quiet groan as he moved his shoulder too much. Hazy images of Arthur, and possibly a few of vomit, were filtering through, and he covered his eyes. He really hoped he hadn't fucked Arthur and couldn't remember it now. He was sure that Arthur would be a one time thing, and he'd wanted to savor it.

 

He didn't feel like he'd had any sex though. He sighed and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor, and surveyed the room. It had to be the saddest little flat he'd ever woken up in. And Eames had found himself in some _really_ pathetic places before. It was bare, and not in that spartan, elegant way, but actually completely empty. If there'd been a toilet in the corner, and bars on the windows, he'd think he'd woken up in a jail cell. There was a single bed with a scratchy grey blanket kicked onto the floor, a threadbare, rust-colored arm chair pushed close to the head of the bed, and two doors. The only sign of inhabitance was the piles and piles of books stacked up along the baseboards, he couldn't read the titles from where he was sitting, but he could tell there was no order or particular genre amongst them. Paperbacks piled on top of huge tombs, and scraps of makeshift paper bookmarks sticking out of every one. His heart ached a little for Arthur, if this was indeed his home. How lonely everything felt. Eames knew you could live alone, and be alone, and still not be lonely, but this room just made him sad in some undefinable way.

 

Probably just the hangover talking, he decided. He could smell coffee brewing in the air and wondered which door led to it. He stood up stiffly and moved toward the one to his left, opening it with success. If he'd hoped that the rest of the flat would be any better, he was sorely disappointed. The living room and kitchen were one room, just as shabby and empty as the bedroom. Although he did note more books precariously piled around the room, the only personal touch.

 

Arthur had his back toward him, standing in front of the stove, a spatula in his hand. He was wearing a worn t-shirt and soft looking pajamas, his feet bare on the tile. His hair was sticking up in ringlets around his head. Eames thought briefly of hunting down his pants, but shrugged and slipped up behind Arthur, wrapping his arms around the other man's slim hips. 

 

"Good morning, darling." He leaned in and nuzzled against Arthur's neck, inhaling his scent deeply.

Arthur gave an entirely undignified squawk, and elbowed Eames back out of his space. Eames quickly stepped back, laughing, and earned himself a smack on the arm with the spatula.

 

"Don't sneak up on me like that, asshole!" Arthur turned around, frowning, and narrowed his eyes sharply. Eames was surprised at how effective the angry face was, even in sleepwear and with bed head, but he was even more surprised to see Arthur wearing a pair of thick framed black glasses. He still looked utterly fierce and terrifying, which somehow only made Eames want to smile and kiss his face, but he could imagine what Arthur would do with the spatula if he tried that.

 

"Did you make coffee, darling?" He changed the subject, leaning a hip against the counter and crossing his arms. He didn't miss the way Arthur's eyes roamed across his chest and down to his underwear, licking his lips. When he didn't respond, Eames lifted an eyebrow and flexed his arms. Arthur's eyes darkened and he took a tiny step forward. That was all the invitation Eames needed, and he reached out lightning quick, grabbing the wrist holding the utensil, and whirled Arthur around against the counter. 

 

He crowded him and braced both hands against the edge, boxing Arthur in and earning another angry glare. Eames simply smiled and ground his crotch against Arthur's. The spatula clattered to the floor and Arthur pulled Eames head to his with two hands, capturing his mouth. Eames opened up for him, the tips of their tongues touching as Arthur licked his way in. He tasted like coffee and sugar, familiar tastes to Eames.

 

He allowed himself to get lost in the sensations, Arthur's hot, wet little mouth, his long fingers wrapped around his neck. He could feel Arthur already half hard as he rolled his hips into Eames'. Eames groaned around the kiss and moved his hands to the small of Arthur's back, pressing him closer. He broke the kiss, to continue kissing further down Arthur's neck, licking and sucking down to his collarbone, as Arthur panted and made beautiful breathy noises in his ear.

 

Eames was just about to suggest that they move to the bed, as tiny as it was, it had to be better than the kitchen floor. And Eames prided himself on his creativity, he'd manage to blow Arthur's mind even with a lack of space or mobility. His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill noise of the smoke alarm, he jerked back and covered his ears. Arthur rushed over to the stove and grabbed the pan, cursing and throwing it quickly into the sink, and running cold water over it. Eames climbed onto the counter to reach the bloody stupid, cockblocking thing, and pressed the reset button. He clamored down with a laugh, but was cut short when he noticed Arthur tightly gripping his hand and cursing.

"Oh darling, did you burn yourself?"

"My mom always said to put butter on it, but I think that's a myth." Arthur prodded at his hand and winced.

 

Eames tsked and gently took Arthur's hand into his own. He tugged Arthur over to the window to see the damage properly. Not only was the apartment sad and lonely, but it had dismal lighting. _Maybe that's for the best. Easier to ignore how pathetic it is._

 

"It's just a minor burn. Do you have a first aid kit?"

 

"It doesn't feel minor." Arthur grumbled, and Eames couldn't help but find his petulance adorable.

 

"Don't whinge, pet. It's unbecoming of you. Now, first aid kit?"

 

"Whinge? What the fuck does that mean?" Arthur's stubbornness was less endearing, and Eames held back a sigh.

 

"To whine. Like a child. If you don't tell me where your bandages are kept, I'm going to smear you head to toe in butter." 

 

Arthur snorted and let out a burst of laughter, shocking Eames into silence. With his hair in his face, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose, and his dimples on full display, he was truly beautiful. Eames felt something inside him soften and release. He huffed and smiled back, hoping his internal emotions weren't reflected on his face.

 

"It's in the bathroom. Wait, I'll get it." Arthur took back his hand back and disappeared into the bedroom.

 

Eames frowned and leaned against the window, glad for a moment to get his emotions in check. He tried to dissect exactly what it was he was feeling. He knew he wanted to fuck Arthur senseless, or be fucked by him; Eames was flexible. That was the simple part. He just had to work a little harder than with his usual conquests, but that didn't phase him much either. A challenge might be nice for once.

 

It was the other feelings that gave him pause. He felt loose and vulnerable, as though he'd been stripped of his armor and all his skin was left exposed to the cold. He'd seen Arthur's true face in a split second, and damned if it didn't make him want to see it more; to be the one who made it appear. He had a notion that the Arthur most people saw was the one that he wanted them to see. Eames understood playing a role, he could recognize a fellow actor. That one tiny glimpse, though, had made Eames want to peel back Arthur's own armor, and sink himself elbow deep into the real thing. He wanted to be the only one who knew what it felt like to have Arthur cracked open and spilling for him.

 

He also couldn't get out of his head how Arthur had spoken to him last night. He'd been genuinely interested in what Eames had to say. Eames had been surprised when Arthur asked him about where he was from. No one took an interest in Eames, other than how they could use him to their benefit, or what he could provide for them. It had taken him a moment to decide if he should tell Arthur the truth, or whether he should just feed him another one of the many lies he kept feeding people. It didn't do any good for people to have too much information about him, so rumors swirled around him. They were like his own personal fortress, a form of defense; the less people knew about him, the safer he was. The fact that he'd been the one to start most of the rumors was neither here nor there. They'd taken on a life of their own in the mouths of others. His favorite one was that he was some sort of Royalty or nobility. He'd actually had a lot of fun playing up to it, telling people about his soon-to-be inherited castle in Devon. Americans were quick to believe the most random things just because somebody had an accent, even if wasn't quite the same as the ones you heard on the BBC. Ultimately, he'd decided that whilst Arthur seemed mostly cold and indifferent toward Eames, he actually quite liked the man. Besides, he wasn't really a threat, and if he became one, Eames could easily deal with him. So he'd told someone a truth about himself for the first time in recent memory, and he'd felt pretty good about it. Right up until he'd passed out from the pain of his shoulder. _Not to mention the whiskey poured on top of a few vicodin._

 

He schooled his features back into his usual affable grin when he heard Arthur returning.

 

Arthur smiled at him and set the box on the table, fumbling uselessly at the lid of the small metal box with his uninjured hand. Eames couldn't help but find the way his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration even more adorable than his earlier petulance.

Eames moved closer, his hip against the edge of the counter top and leaned forward on his elbow. He watched Arthur's continued struggle with barely restrained amusement. 

 

"You know, darling, _my_ mum always used to say that if you don't ask for help, how will anyone ever know you need it?"

 

Eames was glad that Arthur couldn't actually kill anyone with his glare, no matter how hard he tried. He laughed quietly as he wrestled the box away from Arthur's stubborn grip.

 

"Here, let me." He patted the counter. "Hop up. There's a good lad. You know you can't _actually_ kill me with your glare, no matter how hard you try?"

 

Arthur only narrowed his eyes further, but acquiesced after a moment, boosting himself up on the counter and holding out his hand. Eames tsked over it some more and smeared it gently with some ointment, wrapping a soft bandage around it.

 

"There, love, good as new." He stepped back so that Arthur could slide down onto his feet.

 

"Thank you." Arthur muttered begrudgingly.

 

"I know how you can thank me properly, Arthur. I believe we were interrupted." Eames tilted Arthur's chin up with two fingers forcing their eyes to meet. They were of height so it took only a slight movement for Eames to press his lips gently against Arthur's. He licked at the corners of Arthur's mouth until he opened up with a hungry noise and kissed back. Eames could feel Arthur fisting the back of his shirt in his good hand, and pressing himself closer to Eames' body. Eames allowed himself sink into the kiss, focusing on the taste of coffee and the warmth of Arthur's considerably smaller body against his own. He was just getting absorbed by the kiss when, All too soon, it was broken by Arthur as he pulled away. Eames couldn't help the small whimper that left his mouth in protest of the abrupt ending.

 

Arthur stood back from Eames, twisting his hand into the hem of his t-shirt and looking at the floor as he chewed on his lip.

 

"What's the matter, darling?" Eames felt a little like he was talking to a cornered animal; Arthur bristled and only tensed up further when Eames tried to shuffle closer to him.

 

"I can't do this, Eames."

 

"Why not? I'm up for it. Let's have a little fun, shall we?" Eames instantly knew he'd said the wrong thing when Arthur straightened and looked right at him, his eyes shuttered and his jaw set.

 

"I'm not here to have fun. Besides, I can't let myself get involved with someone like you." 

 

"Someone like me? What am I like?" Eames' voice hardened; he knew what was coming. It wasn't like he hadn't heard it countless times before.

 

"You know...a criminal." Arthur looked as though he regretted it the instant the words left his mouth.

 

"Oh, Arthur." Eames voice was a quiet purr. He stalked forward as Arthur took hesitant steps back. He kept his voice low and cold. "What _exactly_ do you think _you_ are? Or, I know...is it because I'm not afraid to do the dirty work, to get my hands physically dirty? Well, I have news for you, dear. Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean your hands aren't plenty dirty."

 

He spit out the last few words and turned on his heel, pushing the door to the bedroom back so hard that he could hear the doorknob cracking the plaster. It gave him a rush of petty satisfaction. He knew he shouldn't have trusted the little tosser. Arthur had followed him into the room, his injured hand cradled against his chest.

 

“Eames. I'm sorry, that's not what I meant." 

 

"Oh, well then, by all means explain what you meant. How _exactly_ did I misinterpret you?"

 

Arthur didn't say anything, his face twisted in confusion. Eames zipped up his pants and jerked his t-shirt over his head, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He slipped his shoes on, stamping them against the floor to adjust them, and pushed past Arthur into the main area of the flat. 

 

"Wait, at least let me give you a ride." Arthur pleaded, scooping his keys up off the coffee table. Eames turned and held up his hand to stop Arthur, his other hand resting on the front door.

 

"Look, Arthur, I get it. You think you're a better class of criminal or some shit like that. You just keep thinking that. And we don't have to have sex; trust me, I'm not in dire need or anything. We just have to work together. So, let's move on and you can let me know when you next need me to get my hands dirty, yeah?"

 

He didn't wait for an answer, just stepped out and shut the door behind him; but not without catching one last glimpse of Arthur, his hair still askew, and his glasses sliding down his noses. His face was twisted into an expression that Eames couldn't quite place. He looked hurt, and confused, and maybe a little angry. What Arthur had to be angry about, when he'd been the one to put a stop to things, Eames really had no idea. He ignored the pang in his shoulder, and the matching one in his chest, as he clambered down the stairs, clutching his shoulder and out into the street. If Arthur thought he was better than Eames, then at least Eames wouldn't have to bother with any more pretence. He told himself that he was relieved he wouldn't have to let down his guard and share any more truths about himself with the little tosser. That's what that feeling in his chest was...relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [ tumblr. ](http://sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com/) Come follow and ask. I love me some asks.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur bit his lip, wishing he could figure out how to just talk to the guy like a normal person. He was fascinating, and all Arthur had done so far was offend him and treat him like he was stupid. But then, he wondered if _Eames_ even knew how to talk to someone normally any more, without flirting or violence being involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for the tiniest mention of suicide. 
> 
> Beta'd by [ Heather ](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com/)

The next few weeks were spent in a state of awkward silence, as they carried out surveillance. Eames was acting completely normal, with his usual careless drawl and spread knees, but there was a stiffness about him; as though he was having to work to keep his guard up. Arthur had tried to apologize more than once since the incident at his apartment, but all he'd gotten in return was a curt reply not to worry about it, and when Eames finally lost his patience, a _'would you just bloody shut up about it?'_ So he had. Shut up about it. That didn't stop him from berating himself over the situation. He didn't regret not sleeping with Eames, that wouldn't have done anybody any good. He was angry; angry about the circumstances that kept him from doing what he wanted to do, but there wasn't any regret. He mostly just felt guilty for hurting Eames' feelings. But he also felt petty, like he was in middle school, and was slightly disgusted with himself for fixating on the man, so he attempted to concentrate on the job in front of them. 

 

But they hadn't seen any movement from the old house, and Arthur was beginning to worry that he'd lost his only lead. So far, the only action had been from an old, dark skinned woman, with a cotton puff of hair, hollering at them to stop parking in front of her house. She accused them of being peeping toms and threatened to call the police. Arthur pulled away, face bright red, with Eames' howling laughter in his ear. 

 

As much as he loathed the idea of it, he was seriously considering the need to have to pull out the leather pants and glitter in order to gather some more information. Pulling the same con, on the same man, twice could be risky. They could either be suspicious and give you nothing, or thrilled that you came back and decide to spill everything. He decided to try the old fashioned way first. Good, old fashioned research. He'd already exhausted most of his resources, but things change quickly in the criminal underworld, maybe he'd find something new, or even something he missed.

 

"How about we do something different tomorrow?" Arthur suggested.

 

Eames' eyes narrowed, and Arthur inwardly sighed. "I just meant instead of sitting here, I was going to do some research. See if I can find anything that way. You don't have to join me or anything."

 

"Course I do. Saito's orders."

 

"Okay, fine. Do you want to meet at my place?" Arthur gripped the steering wheel tighter.

 

"No, I don't. If there was a physical manifestation of complete patheticness it'd be your sodding apartment. I've already spent about as much time there as I can handle without trying to hang myself in the closet." Eames' voice dripped with disdain. 

 

"What?! It's not _that_ bad." Arthur was a little offended. Eames raised an eyebrow at that and Arthur scowled. "Fine! It's a little bit empty; I just haven't had a chance to do anything with it yet."

 

"Right. Empty. Well, either way, we can meet at my flat. I'll text you the directions." Eames grumbled. 

 

Arthur pulled up in front of Saito's club, Proclus, and waited for Eames to get out.

 

"You know, that's the most random name for a bar. What does it even fucking mean?" Arthur honestly hadn't meant to ask out loud, it'd just been kind of bugging him ever since he'd seen it on his first night, written out in neon blue letters.

 

"Proclus was a Greek Neoplatonist philosopher. " Eames already had one foot on the curb when he answered.

 

"What?" Arthur gaped at him, not having expected an answer, let alone a serious one. 

 

Eames sighed and turned back to Arthur. "Neoplatonists. They believed that there was no evil. That there was only the absence of good, like how darkness is only the absence of light. I think it suits Saito pretty well." 

 

"Ummm...yeah." Arthur didn't know what to say. He wondered if he was ever going to stop underestimating this man. He was still going to Google that shit when he got home though, Eames seemed like the kind who could spin a tale.

 

Eames smirked and hauled himself out the car, shoving his hands in his pockets and pushing through the front door of the club. Arthur bit his lip, wishing he could figure out how to just talk to the guy like a normal person. He was fascinating, and all Arthur had done so far was offend him and treat him like he was stupid. But then, he wondered if _Eames_ even knew how to talk to someone normally any more, without flirting or violence being involved. He sighed and started on his way back to his pathetic little apartment for a nap on his pathetic little bed. And possibly a jerk off in the shower. His dick didn't seem to get the message that they weren't having sex with Eames, and sitting in such close proximity so frequently left him half-hard most of the time.

 

_If anything is pathetic, it's me._ He thought morosely, as he guided the car into traffic. 

***

After his nap, that had turned into sleeping all day, Arthur realized that he hadn't actually eaten anything yet. He decided to stop by a little deli he'd passed a few times on his way to work. It was tiny, with a purple and white striped awning, and metal tables and chairs crammed into every available space. The name 'Ruby's' was written in flowery script across the front window. A bell rang when he pulled the door open, and he was greeted with a loud _'bonjour!'_

 

He threw himself at Ruby's mercy; with a dimpled smile and a shrug he explained that he was a tourist and had no idea what to order. Ruby, who may have once been a natural red head before old age and a dye job, flirted with him shamelessly. Arthur laughingly refused her offer to take him upstairs and “make him dinner” more than once. He asked her to make two of whatever she deemed best, figuring that if Eames didn't like it he'd keep the leftovers. Ruby frowned and harrumphed until Arthur explained that it was for a co-worker, not a date, then she was all smiles again, pressing two bags into his hand and winking salaciously at him. He agreed that he'd go back and see her again. He really did mean it.

 

He left the store smiling and suddenly ravenous, he thought about unwrapping the foil wrapped packages and taking a few bites, but then he imagined spilling remoulade all over his tie and was able to refrain.

 

He found Eames' apartment easily enough. Or so he thought. The building he drew up to wasn't exactly an apartment, or even a house. It was actually two large industrial buildings connected by a walkway and garden. The whole front side of the building had square windows opening out at their hinges. He hesitated in front of the one that said 'A.' Instead of a regular door, there was a giant, sliding, metal monstrosity. He knocked; it sounded hollow and he was positive no one on the other side heard it, if there was even anyone there at all. He pulled out his phone to check the address that Eames had sent him. He thought about texting him, until his eyes caught a doorbell glowing in the fading light. It was hidden under a tangle of ivy that seemed to have taken over the whole building. He brushed it aside and listened to the muted bell, waiting.

 

He heard the lock click over and, with a clatter, the door rolled back to reveal Eames, half naked. No,not even half naked...basically naked. He clutched a white towel precariously around his waist, his skin looking even more tanned in contrast. He stood before Arthur, covered in a light sheen of sweat, and breathing heavily.

 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Arthur muttered, his eyes widening when he realized he'd said it out loud.

 

"Arthur! Darling, I lost track of the time. Did you bring dinner? Brilliant." He reached out his free hand and tugged Arthur inside by the wrist.

 

Eames' hand was warm and, as he felt the heat travel up his arm, Arthur couldn't make himself say anything else. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd say something he regretted. Like _Please God, let me suck your cock._ He'd faced down mob bosses and truly terrifying men without a second thought. He'd even killed a few. But somehow, this two bit criminal left him tongue tied and wanting. 

 

"I do have a bit of company actually, so if you don't mind waiting, I'll just take care of that and get them out the door. The kitchen's over in the corner, and I think you'll be especially interested in those wooden things over there. They call them bookshelves, you know, for your books. " Eames winked and turned away.

 

The house was basically an old warehouse. It was one big room with a kitchen tucked into one corner, and plush soft looking couches and ottomans in garish colors, like teal and mustard, scattered off to one side. The entire floor was covered in beautifully patterned rugs, not a single one matched, but somehow they all worked together. He smirked at the bookshelves that Eames had pointed out, and just about stopped himself from studying Eames' collection. Arthur was a firm believer in the idea that you could tell a lot about a person by their books, and he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to tell a lot about Eames. Across from the kitchen was a large folding screen with clothes draped over it, and he could see the edges of a bed peeking out from behind it. Eames pointed him towards the kitchen again and disappeared behind the screen.

Arthur could hear murmuring, but ignored it in favor of hunting down Eames' plates. He was a bit dismayed to see the lack of a coffee machine but figured he could survive a few hours without it. He was busying himself with unwrapping one of the sandwiches, licking sauce off his thumb when he was startled by a loud moan. He dropped the food onto the counter, lettuce and mayonnaise spattering out across the counter. Upon hearing another loud moan he whirled around, without even thinking about it.

 

From where he was standing, he could see two sets of feet tangled together at one end of the bed. Now that he actually paid attention to listening, he could hear the soft slap of skin against skin, and a wet smacking sound that had him almost instantly hard. The soft moaning from before had turned into someone calling Eames' name, and urging him to fuck harder. He heard Eames reply, his accent and rough tones immediately recognizable, but he couldn't hear what was said; only that the slapping of skin got louder and more frantic. Arthur knew if he just stepped a little to the left he could see behind the screen, but he also knew that he shouldn't. 

 

Not that his conscience stopped him; he took a deep breath and stepped to the left.

 

Eames was fucking into a smaller man on all fours beneath him on the bed. Eames was on his knees behind him, and Arthur was mesmerized by the flex of his perfect ass. He was slamming in so hard that the other man was being pushed forward on the sheets, and Eames kept hauling him back toward him again by a rough grip on his hips, biceps and shoulders flexing underneath a layer of sweat.

Arthur was frozen to the spot, he should stop watching but when he closed his eyes it just made it easier to imagine _himself_ underneath Eames, and he bit back a moan. He looked around frantically, there was absolutely nowhere to go. There was a door across the room, which he assumed was a bathroom, but not only would he actually end up getting a better view as he crossed over, but he'd be in Eames' direct line of sight. He should really go and stand outside, that's what he should do; just wait out there until it was over. He couldn't make himself move, his feet were frozen and he couldn't stop watching. Eames leaned over and must have grabbed the other guy's cock because the moans got louder, and he could just about hear Eames telling the man to _'go on, come for me.'_ Then Eames' whole body went rigid and he spasmed, pushing in roughly once or twice with a loud moan. Jesus Christ, Arthur did _not_ need to know what that sounded like.

 

He stepped back toward the kitchen and turned to face away, pressing his erection into the counter to try and will it away. He heard the rustle of clothes and the padding of bare feet.

 

"Why do I have to leave, baby? Did I do something wrong?" He heard a voice, but couldn't risk looking up, knowing his face was bright red.

 

"Because I've got work to do. It was lovely. Do you need cab fare?" Eames' voice was still rough and a little breathless, but all business. As though he'd just finished a transaction and, while happy with the result, was ready to shake hands and move on.

 

"Who's that?" The voice asked, and Arthur couldn't help himself, he looked up, right into Eames' stupid, smirky face. He'd had the decency to pull on some soft lounge pants but that was it.

 

"That's none of your business." He was polite and firm, as he rolled the door back and sent the other man out into the night. Arthur noticed he never made the usual concessions; _I'll call you_ or _I hope we can do it again sometime._ He just said a quiet goodbye and rolled the door shut behind the other man.

 

"So sorry about that, darling. Hope we didn't make you too uncomfortable." He grinned, rocking back on his heels.

 

"Shut the fuck up and go put on a shirt." Arthur snapped, turning back to the food.

 

He flushed even redder when Eames laughed and moved behind the screen to grab a shirt.

 

***

 

Eames hummed happily to himself; he felt loose and easy. Relaxed after a good fuck. He honestly hadn't meant for Arthur to be there while he was fucking Joe. Jamie? Jackson? Whatever his bloody name was. He really had lost track of time, but he couldn't be expected to stop just because he had an audience. No one could ever accuse Eames of being shy. And honestly, the way the tips of Arthur's ears had turned red, and the rest of him adorably flustered, was well worth it.

 

He was grateful for Arthur bringing dinner, he was starving, and he maybe had a jar of mustard and a block of moldy cheese in his fridge. He filched a shrimp out of Arthur's po'boy, earning him a glare as he licked crumbs off his fingers.

 

They settled on the couch, food on the coffee table in front of them. Halfway through his sandwich he remembered his manners.

 

"Tea, darling?"

 

"No thanks, I don't drink tea, do you have coffee?" He asked hopefully, the line of his body still tense. His blush had faded until he looked up at Eames again. "You have...um...sauce on your mouth."

 

Eames smiled and made a bit of a show of licking his mouth clean, watching Arthur's eyes darken and his mouth drop open.

 

"No, I don't have coffee. I'm English, I drink tea." He got up to switch the kettle on, Arthur munching quietly while they waited for it to boil.

 

"Milk and sugar?"

 

"Uhh...I guess. Is that how you drink it?" Arthur shrugged.

 

"Yeah, sweet and white for me." He stepped over Arthur's knees and handed him his mug.

 

"You're in America, Eames. Get some fucking coffee like a normal person." He blew on the liquid and took a tentative sip. "Mmmm...well I don't _hate_ it."

 

Eames beamed at him and settled back into eating his food.

 

"You know you can't make me English, however hard you try. You can't use tea to force the English into me." Arthur mused around another sip.

 

"Oh, I'll force the English into you, darling." He said it absently with his usual leer, mostly focused on his food. So he was completely startled when Arthur let out a loud laugh. He looked up to Arthur dimpling at him and still laughing quietly.

 

"That was a pretty good one, Eames. For you, at least." 

 

Eames tried not to be inordinately pleased that he'd made Arthur laugh. A real genuine belly laugh, and it was all because of him. He ignored the clench in his chest and sat back with his laptop to do research, and check tumblr whenever Arthur wasn't paying attention. 

 

The low level, pleased feeling in his chest was harder to ignore as the evening progressed and Arthur would stop and laugh a little, shaking his head at whatever ridiculous thing Eames had said or done. Even when he was in the middle of research Arthur had a smile tugging at his lips, and he looked relaxed, sprawled across the couch, having removed his tie and rolled up his sleeves. 

 

Eames wanted to bundle Arthur up and kiss the corners of his mouth until he laughed again. He tried to ignore the feeling by immersing himself in the research, but it kept floating around in the back of his mind whether he wanted it to or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ My tumblr. ](http://www.sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com) Come visit me cause I am sad and alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames had reached the point where he had to admit to himself that Arthur really was something different. He wasn't ready to really analyze it, or God forbid talk about it, but the perpetual warmth in his chest, and the goofy smile that Arthur caused just by scowling at him, had given him pause more than once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by [ Heather ](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com/)

Eames had reached the point where he had to admit to himself that Arthur really was something different. He wasn't ready to really analyze it, or God forbid talk about it, but the perpetual warmth in his chest, and the goofy smile that Arthur caused just by scowling at him, had given him pause more than once.

 

He'd attempted to fuck it out of his system, or actually he'd just kept to his normal one night stand schedule, but he couldn't be distracted. The way Arthur's mouth would thin out and his eyebrows knit together made him weak at the knees. And his smile...it happened so rarely that he felt like one of Pavlov's dogs. He salivated every time he managed to make it appear. It was getting wildly out of hand.

 

The problem was, he didn't know how to fix it. At first he thought that if he could just lure Arthur to his bed, he'd get over it, but he'd come to the heart-sinking conclusion that he actually enjoyed the bastard's company. Fully clothed. He really was disgusted with himself and what he'd become.

 

He liked to take Arthur out to eat, he figured it was as close to sex he was going to get. Arthur loved to eat, for such a skinny thing he could really put it away. He drank coffee by the gallon and loved spicy things. He ate tiny Thai peppers by the handful. The waiters at Eames' favorite restaurant loved him and remembered his name. _"Arthur!" ___They'd shout, like it was bloody _Cheers_. He'd been coming here for three years and no one remembered him.

He enjoyed introducing Arthur to new things, to watch him upend the bowl of gumbo to slurp up the last of the juices, his pink tongue coming out to lick the corners of his mouth was more than a little bit of a turn on. He nearly lost it when Arthur sucked the life out of his crawfish, licking butter off his hands. 

Basically, he was torturing himself. He'd spend a few hours watching Arthur moan and sigh over food and coffee, then have to sit with him in his flat and do research, or sit in a tiny car and watch a building. He was giving regular reports to Saito, who was wildly unhappy with their progress. Eames knew Saito was unhappy because he never said anything, just steepled his hands and stared at Eames until he backed apologetically out of the room. 

*** 

Arthur was sitting cross legged on the floor having finished the three bacon sarnies Eames had made. Arthur had treated the food as though Eames had presented him with lobster and caviar. Eames had shrugged and insisted it was nothing, but inside he was beaming, and telling himself how pathetic he was all at once. 

"We are really at a dead end here, Eames. It's been almost two months and we've got nothing. Maybe if you hadn't overdosed we would've had them the first night we went out." Arthur teased lightly. 

"Oi! I didn't mean to do it. I told you, I just forgot I'd even taken the pills." Eames sighed heavily. 

"Right. Sure you did." Arthur sighed and shut his laptop, pressing his palms into his eyes and grinding them back and forth. 

"We'll find something, love." Eames winced at the accidental endearment. He couldn't seem to help himself, spewing pet names out every time he spoke to Arthur. Luckily, Arthur had previously chalked it up to a _'weird British thing'_ and Eames had forced a laugh and a frantic nod. 

"I think I'm probably going to have to talk to Frances again." Arthur's mouth turned up in a bitter little smirk. 

"Who's Frances then?" Eames came to sit on the couch that Arthur was leaning against. Arthur must've been tired because he let his body tip to the side and lean against Eames' leg. Eames reached up hesitantly and rubbed the back of Arhur's neck, waiting for him to jump away, but he only sagged and relaxed even more heavily against him. Eames inhaled deeply, and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling, trying desperately to get hold of himself. 

"Frances is my informant from the Rollin' 20s. I got the original information from him." 

Eames' hand tightened for a moment, remembering his first encounter with Arthur, him wearing nothing but tight leather, glitter, and sweat. 

"Oh. Frances." Eames tried, and failed, to keep the edge of anger out of his voice. 

"Yeah, I really don't like it. But I'm shit out of ideas. I can't just watch more kids die, Eames." 

"Of course you can't, darling. You'll do what you have to do." Eames stayed quiet after that and rubbed the back of Arthur's neck, scratching lightly against his scalp, pleased at the quiet sighs and slow sleepy breaths emanating from him. 

*** 

Arthur ended up nodding off, so Eames hauled him up on to the couch and tried his hardest to refrain from molesting him in his sleep. He looked so young, his face passive, all the lines smoothed out, and those ridiculous ears. He slept with his mouth open and even drooled a little bit on Eames' pillows. He found it achingly adorable, which he just couldn't deal with, so he forced himself to stop watching and go to sleep in his own bed. 

He slept in fits and starts and was relieved when his phone rang at 7am. He couldn't stare at the cross beams any longer without going crazy. It was Tadashi telling him that Saito needed him to come in. He dressed quickly and left a note for Arthur, stopping to brush a dark curl back off his forehead. He huffed at himself and stormed out, slamming the roller door behind him. He lit a cigarette as he waited for the tram, and carefully rued all of the life choices that had led him to this moment. 

On his way from the tram stop to the club, Eames stopped and bought a few chocolate croissants and a coffee. He found it amusing that Arthur thought he never drank it and survived on tea alone, so he'd only been drinking it when he was alone in order to keep up the illusion. He happily munched and kicked beads and hurricane glasses out of his way, running into a few still drunk tourists blearily making their way back to their hotels. 

He arrived at Proclus, waving at Jimmy as he made his way up the rickety back stairs. Tadashi was standing outside the meeting room, stoic and expressionless as always. 

"Tadashi, mate! I brought you breakfast." He waved the grease stained bag in the air. 

Tadashi merely raised an eyebrow and didn't respond, but Eames could see the minute tick at the corner of his mouth. Tadashi sighed as though greatly put upon and waved him into the room, taking the bag of pastries as he passed. Not for the first time, Eames thought that Tadashi and Arthur really ought to hang out and be hostile together. He was sure they'd be the best of non-verbal friends. 

Eames imagined Tadashi devouring the food as soon as the door shut, crumbs on his mouth and powdered sugar on his fingers. He knew he'd see no evidence of it when he left, but he still brought the man breakfast whenever he could. It didn't hurt to have people on your side; you never knew if sweets could be the deciding factor on whether someone wanted to kill you or not. _'Ah, mate I thought we were friends. I brought you chocolate pastries!'_

Saito was sitting half on the table, one foot resting on the floor, in the middle of cleaning his hands off with his pocket square. A man tied to a chair in the middle of the room whimpered quietly; Eames could see a bit of blood around the man's mouth and nose. 

Saito sighed and stood fully. 

"This is Levi." His mouth curled around the name in disdain. "He took it upon himself to 'borrow' some of our supplies. He was supposed to drop it off at the warehouse, but it seems that some of it went missing on the way. " 

"I'm sorry. You can have it back. I didn't know. I'm sorry." 

"Why would I want it _back_? I'm sure half of it has gone up your nose, and the rest could be tainted somehow. No, the product is not important to me. What you stole really was a negligible amount." 

"Then why?!" The man shouted, suddenly angry, wrestling with his bonds as his chair tipped from side to side. Eames moved silently and pressed a hand to the man's shoulder. A simple threat, but an effective one as the man stilled and swallowed. 

"As I was saying, the _monetary_ amount is negligible. Now, the amount you have stolen in loyalty and respect is far greater. How can you repay that?" 

The man shook his head, sobbing. "I don't know. I'm sorry." 

"Look, mate. You need to stop apologizing. Have some dignity here." Eames scoffed. He hated the whiny ones. Take it like a man for Christ's sake. If you were going to be stupid enough to fuck over a man like Saito, then you had to be willing to accept the consequences. Why did they all think begging and sniveling was going to save them? As though by apologizing Saito would just forgive them and they'd...what...hug? He rolled his eyes. 

"Thank you, Mr. Eames. But I believe dignity is not within this man's grasp." He gestured with a smirk at the man's wet crotch. 

"Ah Christ." Eames sighed. 

"Levi, we are going to have to take our pound of flesh. You have nothing else we want or need. I will leave you alone with, Mr. Eames. Don't worry, he will not kill you. Hopefully." Saito smirked, and quickly left the room. 

"Right. Down to business, then." 

Eames cracked his knuckles, causing the skinny man to jump and start crying. Some men just weren't made to live the criminal lifestyle. He went to work, pummeling the man; he could feel his fist breaking a jaw, loosening teeth. After the first few punches he was only dimly aware of the sounds, the crunch of a broken nose, the wet sound of blood and skin being torn open. It wasn't as though he blacked out or entered a blind rage, he was just doing his job and his job was boring so he tuned out until it was done. It was no different than accountants mindlessly punching in numbers without a single thought. 

He didn't register the door opening at first until someone called his name. He immediately stopped, his hands hanging at his sides, breathing heavily. He surveyed the damage, the man was still awake, moaning quietly, but his face was a mess of blood and rapidly blooming bruises. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, expecting Tadashi, ready to take over from him. He would dumped the man at the warehouse as a warning to everyone else, and if he was stupid enough to try it again, it would be his lifeless body dumped there next time. 

Instead, he came face to face with a pale and shocked Arthur. 

"What are you _doing_ , Eames?" Arthur's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes narrowed. 

"What are _you_ doing?" Eames immediately went on the defensive. He'd never felt ashamed of what he did. Until, possibly, right in that moment. The way Arthur watched him quietly with shock and anger, he felt like he'd just ruined all the work he'd done with him these past few weeks. All the friendly dinners and late night conversations would be done after this. Arthur would only think of him as some brute who hurt people. 

"You left me a note to meet you here." Arthur didn't wait for a response, simply turned and left, his trench coat billowing out behind him. 

"Damn it." Eames muttered and chased after him. Tadashi nodded and slipped into the room to take care of Levi. Eames knew he'd be able to handle it on his own. 

He caught up to Arthur on the sidewalk and grabbed his, turning him around forcefully until they were nose to nose. 

"Look, darling. You don't get to be angry at me, this is my job. I'm so sick of you...of everybody...judging me because of it." 

"Eames, you're better than this." Arthur hissed, shoving his palm against Eames' chest. 

"No, I'm not Arthur." Eames refused to let him go until he could explain himself properly, he just needed to find the words. 

"Don't fucking say that, Eames. I know you like to play the big dumb meathead, but that's not you. That's not who you are!" Arthur attempted to keep his voice down, only raising it toward the end of his outburst. 

"Look. I didn't mean it like that. " Eames took a deep breath, clutching at Arthur's jacket sleeve. "You're right, that's not me. I'm not my job. I _am_ more than that. You think I don't know that? I know that. The thing is, I'm good at my job, and I like doing it, but it's separate, it's not...it's not my life or who I am. It's just what I do. And why not do a good job, yeah?" 

Arthur let out a breath of air and some of the tension left his frame. He blinked at Eames, and stood quietly looking at his face. 

"I get that. Okay, no, I don't get that. I have no idea how to separate _me_ from what I do. But I think you might be hiding behind this Tao Zen bullshit so you don't have to admit you can do better." 

"Tao Zen bullshit? Shut up, you don't know me." He said it with a smile and reached up, grabbing Arthur's face in his hands, to kiss him. Arthur sighed and immediately opened up, kissing him back. It was slick and wet, their teeth knocking together. Eames bit Arthur's lip and quickly soothed it with his tongue, swiping at his teeth, tasting coffee and morning breath. He could smell the iron from the blood still on his hands, not caring that he was getting it on Arthur and his clothes. Arthur pulled back gasping, his eyes dilated. 

"I can't...I really can't do this. You don't understand." 

"Arthur, you're a fucking idiot." Eames stepped back abruptly, watching as Arthur wobbled a bit to catch his balance. He didn't understand, and it made him angry, like he wanted to scream right there in the street. It made him want to grab Arthur again and snog the sense back into the stupid fucking dickhead. Instead, he just clenched his fists by his side, watching as Arthur shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away. How many times was he going to let the bastard walk away? When was he going to give up and stop watching it, was a better question. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [ tumblr. ](http://sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames had been avoiding Arthur and their task. His avoidance tactics were pretty typical; good old fashioned booze and sex. He'd drink what he could, flirting outrageously with anything that moved, and then take someone pretty home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd also by [ Heather ](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Feedback and kudos and all that are always welcome. We know that a death!fic is a hard thing to commit to and read so we really appreciate everyone who is sticking with it. After this one, I plan to write the fluffliest fluff fic ever written. So you're angst and patience will be rewarded. We promise!

Arthur was starting to come to the realization of just how sparse and pathetic his apartment really was, and the thought led him back to Eames, who'd pointed it out in the first place. He'd even considered buying bookshelves, and thought about how Eames would laugh if he told him. And wasn't _that_ just pathetic. It'd been three days since their argument...disagreement, and he hadn't heard from the other man at all. Considering how much time they'd been spending together, both at work and Eames' apartment, it felt weird to have gone three whole days without any communication. He'd deliberated over texting, his thumb hovering over the send button as he bit his lip in indecision. He didn't even bother trying to call, not sure what he'd say, or even what it was that he wanted to hear from Eames.

He decided he didn't need bookshelves; his system worked just fine for him and besides, it's not like he was going to be there that long. This wasn't a home, just a place to sleep and store his shit. He ignored the ache in his chest when he thought about Eames' home, only he could make a fucking warehouse cozy and inviting.

A secondary problem had presented itself in how often he was jerking off, he was running low on lube and thought his dick might start chafing. He took comfort in the fact that maybe fifty percent of it was just boredom and the rest was Eames. Okay...twenty five percent...maybe. It's not like he didn't want to sleep with Eames, he wasn't some frigid virgin; he enjoyed sex as much as the next guy. And he'd had plenty of one night stands, even a few fucks he'd managed to remain friendly with. 

He just couldn't do it with Eames. He knew Eames would be happy to pound him into the mattress and roll off with a grin, asking where they'd eat next. Eames had perfected the 'no hard feelings' morning after attitude to a T. And normally Arthur wouldn't be opposed, except that he knew that giving in would tip his tentative feelings over into...not love...Arthur wasn't a romantic or anything...but maybe over into something closer. The _possibility_ of love. He couldn't let that happen though, so instead, he moped around his apartment and masturbated. _Like the fucking coward I am_ he thought.

 

***

Eames had been avoiding Arthur and their task. His avoidance tactics were pretty typical; good old fashioned booze and sex. He'd drink what he could, flirting outrageously with anything that moved, and then take someone pretty home. He'd let his mind blank out and concentrate on finding his own pleasure. It'd been pretty successful in the past, a few days of drowning his pain and strangers warming his bed and he was right as rain, there was no reason it wouldn't work this time.

The man currently acting as his bed warmer was dark and thin, and possibly had dimples. Dimples that Eames steadfastly chose to ignore. His name was Tyler, not that Eames cared, as he shoved the man's face away, into the sheets, and roughly pulled his pants down. He didn't even bother to take off his own, just took his dick out. Eames had just started slicking and stretching the smaller man's hole, his clean hand fisted in dark curls, when Tyler had started moaning and talking in the most grating Southern accent. He sounded nothing like Arthur. _And now where did that thought come from?_

He tried to ignore it, gritting his teeth and adding a second finger, but Tyler only got louder. Eames let out a huff as he felt his erection dying. He flipped the man over and gave him a hurried, messy blowjob, pulling off and pointing his cock up toward his chest as he milked out his orgasm. Never let it be said that he wasn't a gentlemen. Tyler pawed ineffectually at Eames' crotch until Eames gripped his wrists, maybe a little harder than necessary.

"No I'm fine. A little too much alcohol, darling."

The man, Tyler?...Tom?, looked disappointed for a moment, but seemed to take it all in stride as he found his clothing. Eames saw him out and spent the rest of the night chain smoking and brooding, sitting on his couch in the dark. 

***

After four days of avoiding Arthur, Eames had come to the conclusion that he was being a bit of a knob. He didn't bother calling, not wanting to hear excuses or outright rejection, he'd rather show up and pretend that nothing was amiss. He was aces at that. As he rounded the corner to Arthur's apartment he noticed a man standing outside his door lighting a cigarette, his face turned away from Eames. Eames knew in an instant that it was Arthur; the tight lines of his body, the way he held himself, and all of the tension running through his body was visible a mile away. Eames couldn't help the involuntary smile that spread across his face, and was about to call out to the other man until he noticed his attire. It was achingly familiar, and a ball of lead settled into Eames' stomach. Arthur was wearing tight leather pants, boots laced up to the knee, and a dark zip up hoodie. His hair was un-gelled and curling down around his ears, and Eames could see polish on his nails as he inhaled hard on his cigarette. He flipped the hood up and shoved his free hand into a pocket, stepping out into the street, unaware of his surroundings, completely focused on his destination. 

Eames cursed to himself and decided he had no other option but to follow. It was well into dusk and enough tourists were out that he had no trouble keeping track of Arthur's slim figure without being seen. He watched as Arthur approached a well known gay bar, a little off the beaten track, and spoke to the bouncer for a moment. Eames couldn't one hundred percent sure what Arthur was doing or saying from where he stood, but he knew a surreptitious money exchange when he saw one. Arthur turned and surveyed the street once before stepping past the rope. Eames ducked behind a stand selling terrible touristy style t-shirts with cartoon oysters underneath the words "Eat Me Raw". Which, really, on any other day Eames would have been more than happy to purchase and wear specifically in Arthur's presence just to watch the eye roll and hear the huffed sigh in response. And maybe that niggling smile at the corner of his mouth that Eames managed to catch occasionally, the one that looked as though he was smiling against his better judgement.

But right now, Eames had more important things to concern himself with, pretending to browse as he waited to see if Arthur would come back out. He was able to kill about fifteen minutes according to his oft checked watch before his curiosity got the better of him. He _had_ to know what was happening, otherwise he was going to drive himself insane standing outside as he imagined Arthur shirtless and glittering under black lights, grinding artlessly against strangers to some horrible techno music. Or worse, in a back room with someone; someone who wasn't Eames. He shut that thought down immediately as he smiled cheerily at the bouncer. He simply presented his ID and paid the cover charge, sometimes the best con was the easiest one; the truth. The bouncer waved him in, immediately distracted by the next person waiting to get in, and paying Eames no attention.

He found himself in a long, dark hallway, at the end of which he could see lights flashing and hear music playing. He was right...terrible techno, the bass so high that he couldn't begin to discern one song from another, just loud booming that made his teeth vibrate.

The club itself was small and dark, crowded for such an early hour. Eames couldn't begin to imagine the press of bodies and shared sweat as the night wore on. He was briefly distracted by two very pretty boys in hotpants, snogging lewdly in his path. They snaked their skinny arms around his waist and pulled him to stand in between them. He suddenly had his hands full of sweaty, naked skin, and a stranger's mouth on his. He kissed back, grinding his hips forward as the boy behind him wrapped his arms around and ran his hands across Eames' chest, but the mouth tasted sour and not at all what he wanted. He broke the kiss off with a gasp of air, smiled and patted the boy's arse, slipping away and pushing the two gently back into each other. They didn't seem perturbed, carrying on with each other as though they hadn't been interrupted. He reminded himself to curse Arthur later, because he'd obviously ruined him for any kind of good time.

As he scanned the crowd, his eyes caught a dark head across the room. He made his way through the mass of bodies on the dance floor, unable to reach Arthur before he slipped behind a beaded curtain. Eames stood outside the curtain for a moment, and took a deep breath. He felt the violent thrum of jealousy scattering his thoughts, making his fists curl, and his body tense up. He took a step forward, the beads clacking together sharply beside his ear; the only thing he could hear above the sound system.

Inside, he found another hallway, this one bathed in red and with many rooms leading off it. None of them had actual doors, just more of those damned beaded curtains. He made his way down the hall, glancing into each room in search of a familiar face. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do when he found the familiar face, but he carried on looking all the same. Further down the hall, the music began to fade and in its place he could hear quiet moans and the slap of skin on skin. He caught glimpses of naked, writhing bodies as he peeked into each room as quickly as he could. He stopped abruptly as he saw a flash of dark curls and pale skin, and slipped a hand past the beads to take a closer look. A man was bent over a battered leather couch while another spanked him steadily, a loud grunt leaving his mouth with each slap. The spanker looked up and smiled...not Arthur then. 

"Would you like to watch, cutie? He's very flexible, and you're very pretty."

Eames shook his head and backed out, continuing his search for Arthur. He'd felt a momentary flash of relief when he realized that neither the spanker nor the spankee were Arthur, but now he was genuinely worried about what other act or position he might discover him in.

***

Arthur rolled his hips lazily, not even attempting to hide his bored expression. He's discovered that men like Francis seem to enjoy the cold indifference that he gives off. Francis' large sweaty hands were gripping his hips much too hard, and his rancid breath washed over Arthur's face every time he exhaled through his mouth. Arthur just barely suppressed an eye roll as he leaned in to whisper nonsense in the sweaty man's ear, trying not to notice the build up of earwax. _Why did the people with all the information always have to be so disgusting?_ He wouldn't mind seducing Eames for a job, though. Thinking of Eames made his stomach clench, so he dropped that line of thought and stood up, turning around so he wouldn't have to look at Francis in all of his repulsive glory. He braced his hands on the man's knees and arched his back to grind his hips to the music. He calculated he might have to keep this up for another five, maybe ten minutes before he could start prying for the information he came for. 

He closed his eyes, counting under his breath and almost missed the rustle of the beaded curtains. He opened his eyes and froze as Eames stepped in, a blank look on his face as the beads slid off his shoulders and clicked closed behind him. 

"What the fuck are you doing in here?! This is a private room." Francis blustered, grasping harder at Arthur's hips.

"Get up, Arthur." Eames demanded, not even bothering to look at him.

"Eames...I...was just..." He didn't actually know how to finish that sentence. It didn't matter really, because Eames had gone entirely past listening.

"Get up, Arthur." Eames spared him a glance this time, and Arthur scrambled up; he could feel his heart caroming around his chest accompanied by the tiniest bit of fear.

Francis looked back and forth, confused. "Is that it? Is Arthur your real name, you little shit?" He spat, reaching out a hand to try and pull Arthur back. Eames snarled at the action and Francis abruptly sat back in his chair.

"Oh. What is this? Are you his boyfriend or something?" Frances smirked. Arthur wasn't sure if the man was actually that brave, or just profoundly stupid. He knew Eames would never lay a finger on him and even he was still fighting back fear.

Eames didn't reply, only started unbutton his sleeves and rolling them up slowly, casually. 

"Well, your little twink boyfriend has been _very_ busy. Did he tell you? He and I have been busy together. He's got quite the talented little mouth." 

Eames abandoned rolling up his sleeves and with another inhuman snarl he lunged at Francis. His fist connected with Francis' jaw, knocking both him and the chair over backwards, leaving the man flailing on the floor like an over turned turtle, yelling as he grasped his jaw in pain. Far from done, Eames stomped over, kicking the broken remnants of chair out of his way, and kneeled over Francis in one smooth motion. He hauled the man up by his shirt and began punching his face repeatedly, Francis' head snapping back each time, crying and begging for Arthur to make Eames stop. Arthur was completely frozen, both from shock and, if he was honest, a little bit of arousal. Eames was defending his honor, whether it needed defending or not.

Eames dropped Francis to the floor with a thud and took his head in both hands, using his thumb, he gently wiped the blood out of Francis' eyes, then pressed slowly until the man was no longer screaming but simply making a high pitched keening noise. A wounded animal noise. For a man who was in a blind rage, Eames' next words were spoken incredibly quietly.

"You don't touch him again, mate. D'you understand me?" He didn't wait for a response but dropped his head again, Arthur winced at the loud sound it made against the hard wood.

"Eames, how the hell am I supposed to get information out of him now?" Arthur barely managed to keep the quiver out of his voice.

Eames just stood and stared at him for what felt like an absolute age, his chest heaving, and then turned back to Francis. He gripped the man's hair and pulled his head up again.

"Who's the boss of your little gang with the stupid name?" His voice was barely above a low growl.

"I can't fucking tell you that." Frances burbled around the blood in his mouth. "He'll kill me, you fucking asshole."

Eames let out a laugh, it was hollow and made Arthur feel inexplicably sad and guilty.

"You think _I_ won't kill you, you bloody idiot?" He wrapped his hands around Francis' throat and squeezed. The man turned the interesting shade of red that often precedes suffocation, and began clawing weakly at Eames' hands. 

"Okay...okay..." He wheezed out. Arthur was relieved; he didn't really want the man to die on his watch but he was loath to stop Eames when he was in the state he was currently in.

 

"Go on then." Eames relaxed his hands.

 

"Dominic Cobb."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [ tumblr. ](http://sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shut up and go to sleep, Mr. Eames." Eames could still hear the smile in Arthur's voice, and he grinned so hard at the ceiling he thought he might break something else. This wasn't a familiar situation for Eames. Not really, anyway. He'd been in all manners of undress with beautiful men, in all sorts of interesting and novel positions. This though, this was more. It was everything he hadn't known he needed. Someone who would take care of him and be there for him, even when it wasn't sexual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by [ Heather ](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com/), who is actually a dirty old man who lives in New Jersey. 
> 
> Also Eames [ makeup, ](http://media-cache-cd0.pinimg.com/236x/4e/91/ce/4e91cea11428ee645c774d2b7bdae4a3.jpg) just in case my descriptive game is off.

His hands were still covered in blood, it was starting to dry and itch, making his skin feel tight. Or maybe that was the swelling. He was almost positive he'd cracked something in his hand, but he was pretty sure he'd cracked something on that wanker's face too, so it'd been worth it. He let Arthur man handle him back to his flat. He sat him down on the worn out couch with a firm _'stay'_ and disappeared.

Eames hadn't said a word, a mix of his still bubbling rage being rapidly overtaken by embarrassment. Arthur must think even worse of him now. He laughed a little, thinking that not a few hours ago he'd set out meaning to apologize and make things better between them.

Arthur returned and stood before him, just looking, head tilted to the side, his expression confused. Eames smiled weakly and licked his lips.

"I came to say I was sorry." He croaked out. Arthur's answering laugh made him feel less tightly wound. He took Arthur's offered hand and let him tug him into the cramped bathroom. Arthur had already started the water, steam swirling around the bathroom and loosening Eames' lungs further. He still felt numb; he hadn't felt any pain yet and everything was too bright and fuzzy at the edges. 

Arthur reached in and checked the water, nodding to himself. He stripped off his hoodie and slid his obscenely tight leather pants down. _No underwear._ Eames thought dully, never too numb to appreciate the view of pale skin and lithe muscles. Arthur turned and sighed, exasperated at Eames who was standing stock still.

"You can't take a shower with your clothes on, Eames."

"A shower?" Eames wished his brain would stop running so sluggish, he couldn't understand what his next step should be.

"Yeah, I can't fix you up until you're clean. And I'm a little worried about leaving you in here alone. You look like you might drown yourself accidentally. Or not so accidentally."

Eames just blinked at him and Arthur stepped forward, his body brushing the front of Eames' clothed one, and began unbuttoning Eames' jeans. Once Eames was completely naked Arthur stepped into the shower, pulling Eames in at the wrist. 

"Sorry, it's a little bit of a tight fit." Arthur paused and seemed to be waiting for something. After a minute he shrugged, and reached for the loofah and body wash.

"You must be in shock, if you didn't even take that one. It was way too easy." Arthur grinned at him and Eames, without even meaning to, smiled back. He was starting to feel more like himself, coming back online as it were. The hot water was loosening his muscles and when he ducked his head under the stream it seemed to clear away some of the fog.

Arthur was gently cleaning off his hands, inspecting for broken skin when Eames pulled himself free. He reached his arms around and pulled Arthur flat against him, then buried his head in the space between Arthur's head and neck, and held on tight. Arthur tensed up at first, slowly relaxing as he slid his arms around Eames' shoulders and soothingly rubbed across them. He made calming noises that Eames could barely hear above the pounding of the shower and they stood there like that until the water ran cold. When the water got too chilly to bear, Arthur gently pried Eames off and pulled him out of the shower, drying him with a scratchy towel. 

Arthur didn't have any clothes that would fit Eames so he wrapped him up in an extra blanket and sat him on the bed as he carefully bandaged his hands.

"I think you might've cracked something, but we'll wait and see if the swelling goes down tomorrow. Other than that, you didn't make out too bad."

Eames watched him silently. Arthur had pulled on a pair of sweats and nothing else, his curls still damp and drops of water slipping down his shoulder when he impatiently pushed his hair back. He was wiry and lean, his muscles flexing as he bent over his work and Eames wanted to touch him again. Luckily, his hands were trapped in Arthur's lap or he might have.

"I'm sorry." Eames said instead.

Arthur stopped what he was doing and looked up at Eames. He made sure he had full eye contact so that Eames couldn't look away.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Francis is a douche anyway. And we got the information. Don't beat yourself up about it."

Eames let out a snort and Arthur laughed a little. "Or anyone else, for that matter. "

Once he was done fussing, Arthur pushed Eames back down onto the single bed.

"You should sleep, we have actual leads and work to do tomorrow. Do you need anything?"

Eames reached a hand out from under the blankets and circled Arthur's wrist. He winced at the movement but didn't let go.

"Stay with me. Please. I promise to honor your virtue and all that." Eames smirked, attempting to hide his desperation. 

Something in Arthur's eyes said that he'd done a poor job of hiding it. He looked sad and fond all at once as he smiled.

"It's not a very big bed, Eames." He protested lightly.

"S'alright, I have it on good authority that I make a superb pillow." He patted his chest and felt a flare of warmth when Arthur smiled and shook his head.

Mindful of Eames' damaged hands, Arthur slid himself over Eames, half of his body turned on its side and tucked up against Eames' hip; his head and torso tentatively laid across Eames' chest, and one hand tucked around his waist, gripping tightly.

"Ah see. Lovely?"

"Shut up and go to sleep, Mr. Eames." Eames could still hear the smile in Arthur's voice, and he grinned so hard at the ceiling he thought he might break something else. This wasn't a familiar situation for Eames. Not really, anyway. He'd been in all manners of undress with beautiful men, in all sorts of interesting and novel positions. This though, this was more. It was everything he hadn't known he needed. Someone who would take care of him and be there for him, even when it wasn't sexual.

Well not entirely non sexual, he was half hard after all. He just didn't care to take advantage of it right this minute. It was a hazy, anticipatory pleasure and he was more than happy to wait. He wound an arm around Arthur, pulling him closer and smelling his damp hair, and let himself drift off.

 

***

 

Eames woke alone and, for a moment, his heart sank. He turned his head away from the sunlight streaming through Arthur's shitty curtains and inhaled the smell of him on the sheets. He was just about to start feeling sorry for himself when he heard the sound of Arthur's voice drifting through the closed door. He smiled and stretched, opening and closing his fists to check he still had basic flexibility in them. Satisfied that he hadn't done any permanent damage, he dozed off listening to the sound of Arthur in the next room.

Aside from being behind a closed door, the conversation was filtering in through half dreams and a muggy headache, so Eames couldn't make out much of what he was saying; only catching odd words and half phrases. _No, I'm still committed._ his voice was low and angry as he spat out the words _If you have a problem, take it up with..._ and then _It's nobody's business who I'm fucking, anyway._ The last thing he heard was a clatter that sounded suspiciously like a cell phone being thrown across a counter. He must have fallen back to sleep, because the next thing he knew Arthur was sitting on the edge of the bed watching him with a fond smile, a slight worried wrinkle on his brow.

"Good morning, darling." Eames stretched, preening a little at the way Arthur's eyes darkened and roamed down his body.

"Good morning, Mr. Eames."

"Oh, 'mister.' Such a formal way to address a man you slept with last night." Eames leered, waggling his eyebrows, and lifted his hips a little, persuading the sheet to move further down his waist.

Arthur smothered a laugh and just huffed quietly to himself.

"Well as much fun as _sleeping_ with you was. You have to get up."

"Oh pet, I thought you'd never ask." Eames was really on a roll today, if he did say so himself.

Arthur did allow himself a laugh this time, but rolled his eyes and stood up as though he didn't trust Eames not to drag him back down under the sheets. Eames privately cursed himself for not doing exactly that as soon as he woke up to Arthur looming over him. He had a feeling he could break down Arthur's 'no sex' resolve if he was just able to touch the other man.

"I called Tadashi earlier, and Saito's arranged invitations for us to attend a party tonight at this guy Cobb's house. We can do a little first hand investigating. "

Eames sat up gingerly, his head still pounding. "I still can't believe it's Dominic Cobb. He's one of the biggest philanthropists in the city. He's constantly giving to charities, and throwing $800 plate dinners for some bloke or another." 

"I read that. This party tonight is for a women's clinic, specializing in treating depression. It's being named after his wife apparently."

"That's right. She killed herself last year. Poor sod."

"So, it actually sounds like he's not that much of a bad guy then? With all the charitable donations...it seems strange that the same man is behind a drug ring that is basically murdering children." Arthur looked thoroughly perplexed by such a situation.

Eames shrugged.

"Well, _Saito_ is also one of the big money givers in the city too. He's always at Cobb's parties giving away extravagant amounts of money willy nilly. I believe he set up some sort of fund for poor people to pay for their energy bills. And he's constantly throwing money at green, renewable energy research. It's not that black and white, Arthur. "

Arthur frowned at Eames, biting his lower lip.

"I know. I just find it hard to..." He pushed his hands together, rubbing them back and forth, as though squashing something between them. "You know?"

Eames laughed, momentarily forgetting about his headache.

"Yes, darling. Luckily I speak 'Arthur', so I _do_ know. It's difficult to reconcile the dichotomy of their different personae. Is that what you mean?"

Arthur merely raised an eyebrow and Eames huffed, offended at Arthur's condescension.

"I'm not just a dumb piece of meat, Arthur. Are you ever going to stop being surprised when I sound like I've read a book or two?"

"Um...no. I was just thinking about how much it turned me on actually." Arthur smiled and stood up before Eames could reply. "You're going to have to wear your dirty clothes. Get up and get dressed, we have to go shopping for party clothes...dah-ling." The smirk was audible in his voice as he walked toward the kitchen.

Eames blinked after him, trying to figure out if he'd actually heard him right, for once completely and utterly at a loss for words.

***

Normally, Eames hated shopping. He'd never had enough money to buy the proper stuff when he was younger, and now that he did, he felt like a bit of an idiot trying to match colors and fabrics; the salespeople smirking rudely at his fumbling questions. So he just wore what he had, and owned one good suit, and that was enough.

Except, apparently, it wasn't. Not according to Arthur. Arthur who lived in a hovel but wore three piece tailored suits. He'd dragged Eames to the posh part of town and shoved him bodily through the door of the first menswear shop he could find. Arthur took charge, spouting off words like _houndstooth_ and _silk_ , _inseams_ and _seersucker_. The next thing Eames knew, he was in a dressing room, faced with wine colored shirts and dark grey trousers. He sighed heavily and began pulling the garments off their hangers.

"Braces?! What are you playing at, Arthur?" He hollered over the curtain as he clipped them on and slid the trousers up his legs. The buttons on the shirt were tiny and fiddly, and he cursed each and every one as he slid them through their holes.

He shrugged into the coat and stepped out of the dressing room. Arthur was perched on a plush settee, sipping at a tiny cup of what could only be coffee. He looked up and his mouth visibly fell open, just a fraction, and Eames had to restrain himself from kissing it soundly. Mostly because he might trip over the too long pants and embarrass himself, and he felt like he might not be able to lift his arms properly without ripping something.

Arthur's eyes darkened, and he licked his lips as he took in Eames' new attire. Eames thought that maybe he could come to like shopping, if this unprecedented reaction was one of the perks. Arthur stood and came around to adjust the pants and tug on the jacket. Eames wasn't sure if Arthur was turned on by Eames in a suit, or just the suit in general. He wasn't fussed though, at this point he'd take what he could get. He felt Arthur's sure fingers readjust the braces and ask him in a low, quiet voice how everything felt. He only got a bit of a tap on the shoulder when he answered with his usual leering jokes.

Once they were done, Eames was so primed that he was ready to go home and jerk off right into the bloody garment bag. He'd never before been so turned on by so little. With the press of extra bills, and the not so subtle drop of Saito's name, they were able to get the tailoring done the same day and went their separate ways to prepare.

Eames had been giddy at the thought of a masked ball. He insisted they meet at the venue, all trussed up; he wanted to test himself and find Arthur amongst the crowds of beautiful people. Maybe then he'd work on convincing him of the connection they obviously had, and why it should be further tested out in bed. He kept to the perimeter of the opulent ball room, watching as the glittering and wealthy of Louisiana mingled and danced. He snatched a glass of champagne from a passing server and sipped it, mindful of his make up.

He assumed that his Arthur would go with something elegant and tasteful; understated, like a simple black domino mask. Of course Arthur didn't need anything elaborate to look mysterious or draw the eye. Eames swallowed as he thought of the charming dimples appearing lightning fast beneath a mask. He, on the other hand, had gone all out. He'd wondered what Arthur would think as he smeared the white paint across his face, creating a blank palette. He'd used black to create negative space across his cheekbones and around his eyes, and then carefully painted a grinning death mask, paying special attention to the mouth and teeth. To finish up, he added a flirty, curled mustache over the mouth. Because, well, why not?

He continued to sip his champagne slowly, winking and grinning at a few people who caught his eye, but not committing, letting his eyes skip past them. Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted a dark, curly haired man, his back turned to Eames. Eames would know that perfectly formed bum and rigid posture anywhere. He smirked, imagining sneaking up on Arthur and demanding a dance. Before he could move, the man turned and winked, lifting his glass at Eames. Eames laughed as he crossed the room, ignoring the people he bumped into; the only person he was interested in was Arthur.

Arthur had managed to surprise him, once again. The man hadn't gone for the understated, or a generic mask, he'd painted his face as well, one side was a silvery grey and the other black. When Eames got closer he realized that they were tragedy masks, the grey side had a turned up mouth, and the black side a turned down mouth, but the effect was ruined a bit by the wide smile he gave Eames. 

Eames slid up next to him, their hips bumping together, and swept his eyes across Arthur's body. For a fleeting moment they just stood grinning at each other, examining each other's faces, completely ignoring everyone around them.

"You surprise me, darling. I expected something dull and ordinary."

"Really? I didn't think you could be surprised, Eames." 

"Only by you, apparently. Over and over." 

They continued to stand hip to hip, pressed against each other's sides. Eames reached down and tangled his hand with Arthur's. Not what he'd call holding hands, but just merely touching, quietly claiming. He was about to ask Arthur to dance when they were interrupted by a tall, sandy haired man wearing a mask that sprouted up and out; resembling a swan, the neck and head swaying precariously. The eyes behind the mask were an icy, intelligent blue, and in his arms was a vicious looking pug, dressed in a matching swan outfit. Eames supposed that if someone had squeezed him into that get up, he'd probably look ready to kill as well. Poor sod.

"Hello!" The man almost hollered in their faces. Arthur and Eames took a joint step back.

"Why, hello." Eames smiled his most charming smile. That was what they were there for after all, to socialize and gather information. Even if it was from weird swan men severely lacking any understanding of personal boundaries. 

"It's lovely to have you. You must be Eames...first name not given." The man held out a hand and Eames tried not to grimace at the limp, lackluster handshake.

"And I know who _you_ are, Arthur Levine." The man was still smiling, but his voice sounded deeper and more sinister. Arthur twitched so quickly, and so minutely, that Eames questioned whether he'd seen it at all.

"Then you have us at a disadvantage, Mr.....?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, his back ramrod straight.

The man laughed and waved his hand around, gesturing at the room and gathered guests.

"Why this is _my_ party! I'm Dominic Cobb, and this is Philippa.” He looked down at the angry little dog as he spoke, a weirdly adoring look on his face.

Philippa's sole greeting was a snarl of sharp little teeth amongst all the wrinkles. Cobb lifted the dog up, making shushing noises at it. Arthur and Eames both attempted to school their faces into neutral expressions when Cobb asked the dog for kisses, and let the damn thing lick all over his face and mouth. Eames thought Arthur might even have gagged a bit.

"Now that introductions are out of the way, I believe we need to have a talk? Come upstairs, I'd just _love_ to show you my model trains!" He turned and walked into the crowd, not bothering to check if the two men followed him. Eames and Arthur glanced at each and shrugged, then made their way through the people, toward Cobb's retreating form; into the lion's den as it were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr.](http://sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's thoughts were racing, he could feel panic scrabbling at the edges of his outward calm. He was sure Cobb was taking them somewhere to dispose of them. He couldn't just let them leave, they were loose ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by [ Heather. ](http://www.theshorteststack.tumblr.com) She is sick, go give her some love.
> 
> Happy New Years to everyone, whether it happened already in your part of the world or is yet to come. Be safe and have a lovely time.

Arthur's thoughts were racing, he could feel panic scrabbling at the edges of his outward calm. He was sure that Cobb was taking them somewhere to dispose of them. He couldn't just let them leave, they were loose ends. _And what the fuck did he mean by 'I know who you are'?_

He felt his arm brush against his handgun tucked underneath his jacket, and calmed down ever so slightly. At least if things went down, he had a bit of an edge. He glanced at Eames, who was making a show of appearing cheerfully calm; stopping to casually examine paintings and bits of pottery displayed on pedestals throughout the hallway. He'd make small noises of approval in his throat and then move to the next one, his smile careless and his stride unhurried.

First and foremost Arthur had to protect Eames. His breath caught as he imagined Eames silenced forever; the world would be a much duller place without his brilliance. Arthur caught Eames' hand in his own and squeezed it. Eames looked down at their joined hands and up at Arthur, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. Arthur just smiled and pulled Eames along behind him. He didn't want to let go. Eames' hand was big and warm in his, and just the small point of contact had him breathing easier; his mind slowing down to a manageable whir. His thoughts focused on Eames, protecting him against all odds; Arthur always worked better when he had a specific goal.

Eames stared bemusedly at their hands and let Arthur lead him.

They traipsed down the longest hallway Arthur had ever seen following Cobb's back and swaying headdress. He came to a halt abruptly in front of a paneled wall; Arthur stopped a few feet back and tensed, maneuvering his body to stand in front of Eames. His hand itching to just pull the gun and start shooting their way out. 

Cobb reached up and stroked at the wall and for a moment Arthur worried that the man had tipped over from eccentric odd ball to truly crazy bad guy. Bad he could handle, but he knew that there was absolutely nothing to be done with crazy. He clenched his jaw and waited.

The panel that Cobb had lovingly stroked slowly slid open, revealing a hidden doorway. Arthur gaped and he heard Eames let out a gasp behind him. Cobb turned and squinted, laughing at their expressions.

"Secret passageways! These old house are full of them!" He turned and took a step forward, but was stopped short by his headdress banging against the top of the doorframe. He cursed softly, tilted his head, and bent his knees; crab walking into the dark. 

Arthur heard Eames make a noise in the back of his throat and looked back to find the man with a hand clamped over his mouth, his eyes wide with amusement. He was shaking ever so slightly from the effort to hold back his laughter.

"I'm sorry, darling. I just..." He gasped and clapped his hand back over his mouth. Arthur nodded and smiled; maybe Eames was in shock. Still he couldn't deny how ridiculous Cobb had been so far. It was a far cry from the boogie man he'd imagined. 

Eames' laughter cut off abruptly and Arthur raised his eyebrows. He whirled back toward the door, hand reaching for his gun, still not releasing Eames. A huge man stood in front of the doorway. He towered over both of them, dressed in a suit that had to be tailor made. _Where else would they find something to fit this behemoth?_ Arthur thought, a little hysterically.

His head was shaved and he wore tiny round sunglasses...inside, at night. Arthur fought the urge to ask the man _'Is your future so bright, you have to wear shades?'_ It probably wouldn't end well. He couldn't see that the man was armed, but he would probably just reach out and crush Arthur's head with little or no effort. He swallowed deeply.

"Mr. Cobb says that I have to search you gentlemen. So if you would be so kind as to turn around and spread your arms." He made a circling motion with his fingers.

"Oi mate. I don't let strange men feel me up so soon in the relationship. Can't I get a name at least?" Eames smiled, pleasant and bland, at the bodyguard. 

Arthur couldn't hold back a snort. _What a liar_ he thought, fighting to get his thoughts under control again. Eames graciously ignored him, keeping his eyes on the other man.

"They call me Charlie." The man shrugged as if giving his name meant nothing. He made the motions with his fingers again and Eames quickly obliged. The man made Eames look like a doll as he manhandled him around. Finding nothing, he gently pushed Eames aside to do the same to Arthur.

Arthur held up his hands and waited. Charlie quickly found the gun in the holster, the one in his boot and the knives he'd strapped to his wrists. Eames' scoffs of disbelief grew increasingly louder until he obviously couldn't contain himself.

"Arthur, darling. This is how you come to a party?" He shook his head, smiling through his make up.

"I prefer to be ready for every eventuality." He angrily straightened his clothes with jerky movements, scowling. "Besides, not all of us can rely on brute strength." 

Eames merely raised an eyebrow, choosing not to respond. Arthur couldn't place his expression; something like a mix of thoughtfulness and confusion. Or maybe suspicion. Arthur refused to meet his eyes, focusing instead on Charlie. 

"Lead the way, Charlie." Now he was unarmed and even more convinced that they were being lead to their death. He wanted to grab at Eames again as he followed Charlie's broad back. He knew it was ridiculous, and would make him look weak, but if he was going to die in the next half hour he decided he didn't care. He reached back without looking, holding his hand out towards Eames.

He waited, still and holding his breath. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck as his hand met air, and nothing more. Just as he was about to rescind the offer and pretend it never happened, he felt Eames' calloused hand slip into his own. Eames squeezed once and Arthur squared his shoulders, somehow more prepared for wherever Charlie was leading them.

"Arthur" Eames whispered. His voice was low and somewhat sad, making Arthur's stomach clench. Eames had said it quietly enough that he could ignore it, and so he did; trying to get his mind focused for whatever was next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [ tumblr. ](http://www.sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com) Come see me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't stupid, he knew that his lifestyle choices meant that he had a very early expiry date, but he didn't much like the idea of dying in some sort of hidden room that smelled of cigar smoke. He especially didn't want Arthur to have to watch it. He wasn't some knob who thought that kind of shite was romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by [ Heather. ](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Sorry for the delay, holidays got in my way.

They entered a short, dark hallway that led into an open room with high ceilings; all wood paneling, old leather chairs and shelves that reached up to the ceiling full of books. Eames thought of teasing Arthur about that a bit, but his mouth was too dry to form sentences. He wasn't stupid, he knew that his lifestyle choices meant that he had a very early expiry date, but he didn't much like the idea of dying in some sort of hidden room that smelled of cigar smoke. He especially didn't want Arthur to have to watch it. He wasn't some knob who thought that kind of shite was romantic.

He made plans though. He could possibly offer himself as a sacrifice; he was the one who actually worked for Saito. Arthur was new, not a threat. He felt Arthur's hands loosen and he grabbed it back, squeezing it tightly in silent communication. _In this together._

Arthur favored him with a brief flash of smile, there and gone again, hidden behind a literal mask, the grey paint seemed to sparkle a bit in the fire light. _Bloody fireplace in a hidden room. Pretentious twat._

Dom hoisted Phillipa into Charlie's arms and made a dismissive gesture. Charlie turned and left without a word, carrying the squirming dog, still remaining expressionless. Eames' breathing slowed a little, less guns and hired muscle made him feel marginally better. The fact that the only exit was guarded by the same guns and hired muscle could be dealt with later.

Dom bent over to wiggle his headdress off, cursing quietly when it popped off, and flung it onto one of the many couches. He brushed a hand through his blonde hair and stood up straight. Eames had to admit that he was quite good looking, if you liked that wholesome, American farm boy thing. Also, if you could look past the very obvious crazy glinting in his eyes.

"Well, gentleman. Welcome to my lair." He laughed, clutching at his stomach. "I've always wanted to say that. But really guys, relax. I'm not some Bond villain for God's sake."

He briefly squinted at them and then moved over to a large table pushed up against the wall. Eames may have found it difficult to believe if he hadn't seen it for himself, but there were actual bloody trains on it. As they both approached it, the details of it came to view. It was a whole tiny town with houses and stores, even a little church, its steeple rising above all the other buildings.

"I did it all myself." He clasped his hands together and smiled proudly down at it.

"Erm...it's very impressive." Eames added.

"Do you mean that?" Cobb's voice was quiet, and a bit desperate, Eames was put in mind of a small child asking for validation.

"No, I really do. It must've taken a lot of work." And he really was sincere, he imagined it was boring, fiddly work, and he was impressed that anyone could sit still long enough to do something like that.

"Well, Mal got it for me before she...and it helped a lot after." For the first time he looked almost normal, his face pinched in grief.

"I'm sorry about your loss." Arthur added quietly. "I heard she was lovely."

"She really was. You know we never had children? She was much too busy and didn't want to take away from her work." Cobb moved away from the table to a faded globe sitting on a heavy stand. He slide the top half open to reveal glasses and a few liquid filled bottles. "Please, sit."

Arthur and Eames sat gingerly on the edge of a couch, facing Cobb, the old leather creaking and moving. They unclasped their hands, in favor of pressing up against each other, from shoulder to hip. Eames rested his hand casually on Arthur's knee, feeling the warmth radiating through the fabric.

Cobb didn't ask, just handed them their glasses, two fingers worth of something golden. Eames raised an eyebrow before sipping it.

"It's cognac. Something expensive and fancy, I assure you. Again, Mal was in charge of that kind of thing. She was classy, I'm just a Midwest boy who happened to marry well. "

Cobb sat across from them in a large wing back armchair; he didn't say anything for a long moment, simply slouching and staring into his glass. Arthur and Eames pushed against each other, as though shoring each other up, keeping each other upright.

"I know why you're here. I mean, really, couldn't Saito have just asked himself? You want to know about the drugs."

Arthur nodded. "Do you know your product is lethal? That people are dying almost 70% of the time after using it?"

"Mmmm...70%? I guess we'll have to do better." Cobb smirked over his glass.

Arthur gaped at him.

"So, are you telling us that you _mean_ to kill your customers?" Eames questioned, knowing his mask did little to hide his disbelief.

"Customers? They aren't fucking customers. They're druggies. They're wastes of life, space, and time. They'll never fucking change." He fisted his hand in his hair and downed the rest of his drink.

"Okay. So if they're druggies, won't they die eventually anyway? Why force it?" Eames felt like he was playing blind. He wasn't sure what use this information would be, and he was worried about saying the wrong thing and setting this man off. He was very obviously teetering on the edge of sanity.

"Did you know Mal was a drug counselor? She opened half of the clinics in town with her own money. She lived and breathed for those shit stains. And do you know what thanks she got?"

Eames realized a bit belatedly that Cobb expected an actual answer. He shook his head quickly and Arthur followed suit.

"She got stolen from, she got ignored, she got funerals for unwanted children, she got pain. That's it. Eventually it just became too much for her." He choked back a quiet sob.

"So you're...killing them off?" Arthur murmured.

"They took Mal from me!" Cobb lurched forward, screaming in Arthur's face. Eames was quietly impressed at Arthur's passive expression; not even a crack.

Cobb sat back and smoothed a hand down his tie.

"Sorry. I just...she loved them and they drove her to die. They deserve it. No one gives a shit about them anyway. Saito wouldn't even care if I wasn't encroaching on his business. "

"I don't know that Mal would have wanted this, mate." Eames attempted to interject some reason.

"What do you fucking know about Mal? All you are is a Saito's piece of meat. In more than one way, from what I've heard." Cobb laughed meanly.

Eames felt Arthur stiffen, and squeezed his knee before he could say anything.

"Right. Be that as it may, I know that Mallorie Cobb helped a lot of people. Not all were success stories, but some were. A mate of mine is alive today because of her. Everyone in the city knew who she was. She wanted to help people, not give up and kill them off. I don't think she'd be very impressed with you right now."

Eames waited, knowing he might have gone too far and said too much. But he just couldn't sit in the face of this weak arsed excuse for a man and not challenge what he was saying. It just wasn't in his nature. He cursed inwardly and hoped that his inability to keep his mouth shut wouldn't get one, or both, of them killed.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Cobb answered coldly.

Eames had expected more yelling, but was still uneasy with this. Who knew what Cobb's particular brand of breakdown looked like?

"You didn't know her. She was everything to me. We were going to grow old together, and those...people...took her away from me. Nothing I said or did made her better."

Cobb took a deep sigh and leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Look. You're trying my patience. I didn't bring you here to talk about Mal. You're only one step above that street trash, and Mal's name doesn't even deserve to be in your mouth. I brought you here, because I'm tired of this ridiculous spying. You're awful at it, by the way."

Arthur began to speak, but Cobb held up a hand to silence him.

"Let me finish." He demanded. "Tell Saito that I'm not going to stop. He can do what he thinks he must to stop me, but I'm sure I have information that he might be interested in if he wants to make some sort of deal. Maybe."

He smirked and settled back in his chair again.

"I guess it depends on how much loyalty means to him." Cobb added cryptically.

"So that's it? You just want us to relay a message?" Eames felt as though he was being slow on the uptake. He couldn't believe his own ears.

"Yes. Unless I see you back here again. No more sitting outside my safe houses, or crashing my parties. Although, if you'd like an actual invite you're more than welcome."

Cobb stood, and waited for the other two men to follow his example. He shook their hands hardily, quickly regaining his mantle as the perfect host. He scooped up his headdress and smiled.

"You're welcome to stay. You're invited this time. Enjoy yourselves, have some champagne, find someone nice to dance with." He disappeared out the door, Arthur and Eames gaping at each other. Eames felt weak with relief, and wanted nothing more to drag Arthur toward him and mess up his pretty suit and slicked back hair; to take him back to his flat and have Thank-God-We're-Alive sex.

Before he could initiate anything, Charlie appeared with Arthur's weapons and escorted them back out into the hallway, much to Eames' chagrin.

***

Eames was pissed off, and maybe a little drunk from the free champagne. They'd only been with Cobb for about thirty minutes, even though it had seemed interminable at the time. When they'd stepped back into the ballroom, it was like stepping out of a movie theatre and being reminded it was day time; people were still dancing and flirting just as they were when they'd been swept away by Cobb. Arthur's professional face had descended almost immediately upon leaving the secret room, and he'd pulled away from Eames hastily. He'd mumbled something about making a phone call and disappeared into the crowd.

Eames had just stood there, completely exhausted and baffled. The Arthur whirlwind had hit him again and he'd come out worse for wear. Again. He snatched at the first passing tray and came back with two glasses, downing them both in quick succession. _Fuck him._

Eames was tired of this bullshit back and forth, and intended to lose himself in someone else as soon as he could find a willing body. He wasn't picky; pretty and quiet was all he needed right now. He just couldn't do it any more. Technically, he didn't have to, they'd gotten the information they needed. The job was done. No dragging Arthur out of his research for a night cap or a late night meal, no more sitting on the couch and watching Arthur when he wasn't paying attention; his sleeves rolled up and his brow furrowed over his laptop, scribbling notes in his silly hipster moleskine. 

Eames gulped the last of his current glass to cover up the twist in his chest, and headed towards a prospect who'd been eye fucking him most of the night. If he was tall and slim, with brunette hair and possibly dimples Eames didn't even notice. Honestly. 

*** 

Eames had dragged Michael out into the gardens for some privacy, they had high walls and thick hedges creating a lot of dark corners; exactly what they needed. If the giggling he heard in the dark was any clue, he wasn't the only one who'd had this idea. He really wasn't interested in taking the man home and having the goodbye talk, all he wanted was something quick and dirty in the dark. Luckily, Michael was more than willing as he knelt in the dirt and pulled out Eames' cock. Eames sighed and leaned back against the brick wall with his eyes closed. Everything smelled like magnolia blossoms and honeysuckle. He breathed in and tried to completely shut down his mind. 

_He was in the middle of the most mediocre blowjob of his life when he heard someone clear their throat near by._

"Sod off, mate. " He answered without even opening his eyes. 

"No, I don't think I will." The familiar voice replied. 

Eames' eyes shot open to find Arthur standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and an angry smirk on his face. 

"Well, free fell to watch then, you pervert." Michael had stopped and was looking between the two in confusion. Eames took his cock in hand and pushed it back into Michael's mouth. "Don't stop." 

He fisted his hand in Michael's hair and began thrusting shallowly. He was seething with anger. 

Who the fuck is Arthur to be stroppy? He was the one who kept leaving. Besides I came out here to forget the bastard, and this isn't fucking working. 

His thrusts became more demanding and he felt a petty satisfaction at Michael's gagging and muffled moans, imagining it was Arthur. He'd just fill his throat and leave him here, never speaking to him again. His revenge plans were interrupted by Arthur coming closer. Eames stopped, his cock popping out of Michael's mouth and leaving a wet strand of spit and pre come between them. 

Arthur put his hand on Michael's shoulder and smiled. Not a real smile, Eames could tell that this was his danger smile. And from the look on his face, Michael could tell too. 

"I have five different weapons on my person right now. But honestly, I don't need any of them. I could snap your neck from right here and not even break a sweat. So...I suggest you take your leave. But really, it's up to you." Arthur's voice was sugary sweet and he smiled the whole time, but Michael still looked like he was going to piss himself. He scrambled to his feet and actually ran away without uttering a single word. 

"Oh my days. What a fucking baby." Eames grumbled as he started tucking himself back in. He'd lost his erection anyway and thought he might just go home. He had plenty of alcohol there and a bed to pass out in. Fuck everyone else. 

"Yeah, you really like them dumb and easy, huh?" Arthur watched him carefully, his dark eyes narrowed and a smile playing around the edge of his mouth. 

"Fuck you, Arthur." He let his accent deepen, drawing out his Rs, and purring the name out. He was gratified to see the other man shiver and lick his lips. Too bad for him. Eames was done. 

"You want to know what I _like_ , you stupid arse?" He waited for a nod. "You. I fucking like _you_. With all your stupid faces and your sticky out ears. I like you in a suit, I like you in your glasses and I like your sad attempts at growing a beard. I like you, damn it. I would've thought that was obvious. I can't stop thinking about you. I want you all the time." 

Eames shut his mouth with a snap. He hadn't meant to say that much. God, he was pathetic. 

"Never mind. It doesn't matter. We're done, yeah? So I'm going home, and I assume I'll see you around. If we do run into each other, can you just do me a favor...can you just pretend that this never happened?" 

"No. I can't, Eames." 

Eames had a few choice curse words on the tip of his tongue when Arthur surged toward him in the dark. He pushed Eames back against the wall with both hands planted on his chest. Eames stumbled back, an _'oof'_ escaping out of him, as Arthur lifted his hands to rest on the wall either side of Eames' head and leaned in, pressing their bodies close. 

"I'm tired of fighting this, Eames. I don't want to pretend this never happened. " He stopped, licking his lips and avoiding Eames' gaze. He sighed and looked back, directly into Eames' eyes. "Because I want you too." 

His face broke out into a beaming smile, all dimples and bright eyes. 

"God. I cannot believe how good it feels to finally say it. It's kind of amazing. I like _you_ , Rupert Eames. I can't stop thinking about you either. It's ridiculous. You have no idea how much I want you back." 

Eames just gaped at him. 

"Oi, how do you know my real name, you sneaky little shite?" Eames asked, unable to process much else. 

Arthur shrugged. "Research. Is that all you got from that?" 

"No. Just...give me a minute, darling. You've been jerking me around for months here. Forgive a man if he's having some trouble." 

"You're forgiven. I guess you do need some convincing." 

Arthur brought his hands down to Eames' face and kissed him. At first it was just a press of lips, dry and a little chapped. Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist and shifted them closer. He opened his mouth to let Arthur in, and moaned when he felt Arthur's tongue swiping across his mouth. Their tongues entangled, and Eames caught a hint of champagne, and that familiar Arthur taste underneath it all. There was a bitter taste of make up too, he could feel it smearing across their faces and Arthur's hands. 

Even knowing it was ridiculous, this kiss felt different to their previous ones. It was intense and dizzying, robbing him of his breath and unclenching the sick feeling he hadn't even realised that he'd been carrying around. It left behind something warm and right in his chest. The kiss deepened and got a little bit desperate, with bites of teeth and ragged gasps in between. Arthur was grinding his hips against Eames' and making quiet little needy noises into Eames' mouth. 

Eames managed to break away for a moment, long enough to say "Let's go home, darling." 

"Oh. Do you need more proof?" Arthur panted, grinning; his eyes dark and his mouth red and swollen. 

"Uh. Yes, I think I might need lots and lots more." Eames grabbed his hand and began walking back towards the path. He was brought short when he realised Arthur wasn't following. 

He turned to see Arthur standing there, his hair messed, his make up ruined, and his chest heaving. His brow was pinched and he was chewing on his lip; something obviously still bothering him. 

"Eames, I know you're kidding. But...you do believe me right? I like you and want you. You are so important to me. I just need you to believe it. No matter what happens. Ok?" 

"Oh, pet. Of course I believe you." He stepped closer and cupped Arthur's chin in his hand. "I think I've wanted you since that very first night. You were so beautiful and cocky. Not taking any of my shit. I need you here, in my life. No matter what happens between us." 

Arthur dropped his shoulders and exhaled. He smiled again and reached out to touch Eames' face. 

"Your make up looks terrible." He whispered quietly. 

"As does yours, love." 

"Well we'll just have to mess it up some more, won't we?" 

"Oh darling, you have no idea how much I want to mess you up." Eames smiled as Arthur's eyes darkened and he gripped his hand tighter. "I'd kiss you to seal the deal, but I think if I touch you again we might never get home. Wouldn't do to get arrested for lewd acts in the middle of a party." 

Arthur laughed and nodded. They eventually found their way out of the maze of the garden, right into a line of taxis waiting for guests. They tumbled into one and managed to keep their hands mostly to themselves on the ride home. Eames was grinning so hard that he was worried his face might split in two. He flung the cab driver much more money than the ride was worth, and dragged Arthur out of the car, manhandling him up the path and into the front door. He'd been waiting much too long for this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [ tumblr. ](http://sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally. Some porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [ Heather](http://www.theshorteststack.tumblr.com)

Arthur was having trouble comprehending how good he felt. He couldn't believe the weight that lifted the minute he just gave in to Eames. He'd been fighting against him for so long, fighting against this, and now that it was happening. He couldn't remember exactly why he'd resisted for so long.

Eames pulled him across the warehouse by his tie, a mischievous grin lighting up his beautiful face. There was face paint smeared across both of them, their hands, faces, and expensive clothes. 

Eames surged in for another kiss, toeing off his shoes at the same time, and pushing Arthur's jacket down his shoulders. The kiss was messy and wet, they kept missing each other's mouths in their haste to divest themselves of clothes that were in the way.

"Okay...okay. Stop." Arthur gasped, pushing Eames gently away by the shoulder. Eames was displaying a world class pout, and Arthur couldn't help but kiss it away. "Not for good. Just let's focus on the naked part, and then we'll get back to the kissing."

Arthur slipped his buttons out as he laughed at Eames struggling with his own shirt, yanking at the tiny buttons, eventually pulling it over his head, undershirt and all. He never took his eyes off Arthur while he unbuckled and pulled his pants and underwear down in one go, kicking it to the side. He stood up straight and smirked, hands on his hips, presenting himself for Arthur's inspection.

Arthur was still working on his buttons and had to stop; Eames was stunning. He'd known that, of course, but seeing it now, when he could actually have it, made him ache. He forgot about his own clothes and stepped closer, running light fingers over the other man's shoulders, feeling him shiver under his fingertips. His skin was warm and smooth, but hard with muscle, as Arthur traced a few tattoos and leaned forward to kiss the scar on his shoulder. He felt oddly proprietary over it. 

"Darling," Eames breathed, his voice barely above a low rumble. "I hope this isn't a one time thing, yeah?"

Eames caught his hands and brought them up to kiss his fingertips. Arthur shook his head.

"Well then, not to sound too hasty, but we have all the time in the world to take it slow. I can't wait much longer for you."

Eames illustrated his point by pulling Arthur closer and grinding his erection against Arthur's still clothed hip. Arthur closed his eyes and groaned as Eames leaned in and bit down a little too hard on his shoulder. He gasped and swatted at Eames.

"Fine." He stepped back and finished his buttons. "Sorry some of us have a little dignity. You're still wearing your socks."

Eames smirked and started stroking himself with one big hand. Arthur's mouth went dry and his cock pressed so hard against his zipper that it pained him. He undressed in record time and flung his clothes off somewhere in the room, not caring where they ended up. He advanced on Eames and kissed him hard, a clash of tongue and teeth. He pushed slowly, marching Eames back towards the bed until they were close enough to push him down. They fell together onto sheets that smelled of Eames, and Arthur was beginning to feel drunk on it all.

He shifted so that their cocks rubbed together, and was rewarded with a low moan from Eames. He grinned and worked his way down Eames' body, licking and nibbling, paying special attention to Eames nipples; biting down and soothing with little laps of his tongue. He scratched his hands through the dark chest hair and buried his face in it, breathing in the completely masculine smell that was all Eames.

He also had to stop at Eames hips, licking at the V of muscle there, and delighting in the way it made Eames twitch. His cock was red and leaking pre-come, the foreskin slid back a little to reveal the head, but Arthur ignored that, licking at the pre-come instead.

Eames made a half amused, half angry sound, and fisted his hand into Arthur's hair, tugging slightly.

"Darling. What did we say about taking our time? Please..." He muttered through clenched teeth, his hips thrusting up toward Arthur's face, his cock bobbing and leaking some more.

"Please what, Mr. Eames? Specificity."

"Bloody speci....if you don't suck my fucking cock, Arthur...right now...I...nnngghhh."

Arthur took Eames down in one smooth glide; tasting the salty skin of the cock filling his mouth, a heavy weight on his tongue. He paused, letting his mouth adjust to the stretch, breathing heavily through his nose and rising further up on his knees to get some leverage. He could tell by the way Eames' thighs were shaking that he was doing his best not to just let go and start thrusting up into Arthur's mouth. Arthur believed in rewarding good behavior, so he pulled off slowly, lavishing the underside with attention from his tongue and set up a slow rhythm. He heard Eames moaning and cursing at him, thrusting up once or twice before he could manage to get himself under control. 

***

It wasn't perfect sex. There was some awkward confusion about who was going to top, and Eames might have elbowed Arthur in the ribs pretty hard when he rolled over after they decided it would be Arthur. Arthur's hands were shaking in eagerness and he managed to spill half the lube all over Eames' sheets.

"Don't apologize, darling. Just fuck me please." Eames lifted his arse and wiggled it a little until he felt Arthur trace his clean hand down his ribs and grip his hip to still him.

He felt Arthur shift behind him, and could feel hot breath on his skin before teeth nipped hard against his cheek and he bucked forward with a shout. His arms felt a bit weak, and at the first push of Arthur's fingers they wobbled precariously. Arthur used more lube than might have been entirely necessary, but since he'd started with two fingers, Eames wasn't going to complain. His body was heating up all over and he couldn't keep his mouth shut, moaning and begging without making an iota of sense.

Arthur had gone suspiciously quiet, even for him, and when Eames turned his head to look, he had to take a deep breath and swallow at Arthur's intense concentration. His eyes were wide and wild, his lip caught firmly in his teeth; his un-gelled curls were falling across his face, and it looked like he had a streak of lube smeared across his cheekbone mixed in with what was left of his face paint. 

"I'm ready, darling. Please...just fuck me."

Arthur groaned and ripped open a condom, lubing himself up with the last drops left in the bottle. Eames turned back around and arched his back, feeling Arthur's long fingers dig into his sides, already relishing the bruises he knew he'd have in the morning.

With the first press of Arthur's cock to his hole, Eames' arms gave out, and he dropped so his face and shoulders were pressed into the bare mattress where the sheets had come off. He heard a muffled shout and Arthur fell forward with him, pushing in faster than what could be considered strictly pleasant. Eames grunted, breathing through the pain, and waited patiently for Arthur to move again.

"Sorry, sorry." Arthur gasped out, placed one hand on the mattress by Eames' head, and lifted himself up a little. He pushed his cock in the rest of the way and stopped abruptly. Eames could feel the tension thrumming through the other man's body, and he was ready for more. He pushed his hips back a little, hoping to encourage Arthur.

"Come on, Arthur." He demanded.

Arthur pulled out with a slow glide, and that signified the last of any restraint he'd seemed to have possessed so far. He slammed back into Eames, who could hear himself moaning like a fucking slag. In this position he couldn't move much, except for the occasional roll of his hips back onto Arthur's cock once or twice, before Arthur was pulling back out only to slam in again. He could feel the most delicious burn in his spine, and he gasped wetly into the mattress, watching Arthur's hands clench and spasm next to his head. He had the overwhelming urge to take them into his mouth and suck on Arthur's fingers until they were slick and covered in spit. He'd file that thought away for later though; right now he was content to listen to Arthur babbling increasingly louder above him as he pounded into Eames. 

"Oh God, Eames. Why the fuck didn't I do this before? I've wanted to fuck you like this since I saw you. Take you back behind the filthy bar and turn you around against the wall. And just...fuck...fuck...Eames!"

The thought of Arthur manhandling him in public, his face and hands scraping against brick whilst Arthur used him and left him wet, had Eames coming before he could even shout; before he even realized he was about to. He spurted all over the bed, making a further mess of the already ruined sheets beneath him. He wasn't sure if his legs could support him much longer, but luckily Arthur seemed to be speeding up; the sound of their skin smacking together echoing over their harsh breathing. He thrust in one last time and stilled, breathing a long moan and stuttering his hips a few times before dropping himself over Eames, whose body lost the rest of the battle and collapsed fully down onto the bed. 

"You owe me some new sheets, love." Eames grimaced at the sticky, cold feeling of lube and come all over his stomach and chest.

"Right. We can go shopping again." Arthur rolled off of Eames' body and lay down next to him in a sweaty breathless heap.

Eames felt a surge of something in his chest. He couldn't, or didn't, want to put a name to it; it was the kind of feeling that made him want to grab Arthur, and squeeze him, and never let him go. Feeling that he could safely do the first two without examining his feelings too closely, he hooked an arm around Arthur's waist and pulled him into the crook of his own body, spooning up behind him and squeezing him until Arthur gasped out with a pained laugh. He knew that eventually Arthur would get up, even if it was just for a much needed shower, but for now, as his eyelashes fluttered and his breath slowed into sleep, Eames could pretend that he didn't ever have to let him go. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [ tumblr!](http://www.sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames sad and tragic past *plays violin*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by [ Heather ](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com/)
> 
> There is a slight mention of past non-con.

Arthur thought he might be going a little bit crazy. Or mad, as Eames would have put it it. He was going a bit mad for Eames. He couldn't get enough of him, and not just in a skin hungry way, although that was plenty important and they indulged in it often enough. He wanted to just be with him, to listen to him talk, and make him laugh. He felt warm and safe, any anxiety or thoughts of the future receding into the background. It was two weeks of just...complete madness.

Or maybe it was something else. Something that even Arthur was having trouble admitting to himself. Was this madness...or did he maybe love the other man? Every time he had a moment to himself he'd stop and think about it before he shook his head and moved on. It didn't matter, even if he _did_ love Eames, he didn't know if the feeling was mutual or if he was even ready for it to be mutual. So he kept his mouth shut and just allowed himself to enjoy what they had right in that moment.

They didn't have much to do lately in terms of work. They'd relayed the info they'd gathered about Cobb, and now Saito was having them wait. He hadn't said they were done with the case, but there also wasn't anything else for them to do right now. Occasionally Eames was called in and would return with blood on his hands and a sheepish, apologetic look on his face.

Arthur never asked, and tried his best to hide his anger, despite knowing that Eames was better than this hired muscle bullshit, but he didn't know how to make Eames realize that. He knew that mentioning it would just make Eames resentful and sulky. And that was not how he wanted to spend his time with him, so he just silently bandaged Eames' hands up, and kissed his mouth until Eames smiled again.

They spent a lot of time in bed. Arthur had spent far too much money on more than one set of new sheets and Eames had laughed himself silly when Arthur had laid them out on the counter with a helpless shrug.

"I don't like doing laundry that often."

Eames had drawn him in, still laughing, and pressed his nose into the side of Arthur's neck as he wrapped an arm around his waist. They went through all the sheets in a week, and Arthur grumbled about the laundromat until Eames shut him up by shoving him into the bathroom and sucking his cock as Arthur tried desperately to keep quiet. After that Arthur didn't mind so much about hanging out in the laundromat. He still grumbled a lot but only so Eames would feel the need to make him be quiet again.

They lay in bed and talked a lot. Arthur still couldn't bring himself to be completely honest, it was virtually impossible, and it racked him with guilt. So he told Eames everything he _did_ feel okay talking about; with hushed voices in the dark, a cigarette passed back and forth, and rain pattering against the huge windows that Eames had to swing open with a ladder and a pole. 

"I have a sister." Was the first secret he revealed.

"Oh? Does she have stunning dimples and a beautiful arse like you?" Eames teased, running a hand down Arthur's side.

"Like I would ever let you near her. Besides, she's married. To somebody respectable, not some bum like you." Arthur smirked.

"Oi. I'll have you know, I am a perfectly respectable bum, thank you very much."

"Her name's Rachel. She's got two kids named Jacob and Ruth."

"And you're Uncle Arthur then. How adorable. How old are the sprogs?"

"They're four and eight. I've never actually met them." Arthur twisted the sheets in his hand nervously, temporarily unable to look at Eames.

"Does that mean you haven't seen your sister for that long?"

"Yeah. I guess...I don't know. My life is just so dangerous. I can't protect them, you know?"

Eames nodded, but didn't reply. 

"I send them things. I always make sure it's routed through other states and stuff, but I like to know that I'm in their lives a little bit. Even if they don't know my face, they still know me. Kind of?" Arthur despised the way his voice sounded so insecure and shaky, as though he was waiting for Eames' validation. 

Eames turned on his side to face Arthur, and passed him the cigarette wordlessly.

"You want to know what I think, darling?" Eames asks, as though he really wouldn't tell him if Arthur said no.

Arthur nodded, exhaling the smoke carefully.

"I think that protecting them is showing them more love than most families show each other. You could be selfish and try to see them, but you've chosen to give them up for their own safety. That's real love. "

Arthur let out a shaky little gasp and pressed his hands against his eyes for a minute, not acknowledging Eames plucking the cigarette out from between his fingers. Arthur took a deep breath and held it, letting it out slowly and lowering his hands.

"Okay, now it's your turn. Tell me something." Arthur turned expectantly.

"I really cannot stand the word 'moist.' " Eames replied, his voice grave and face serious. 

Arthur looked at him for a moment and then burst out laughing so hard that he shook the bed.

"You dick. No, tell me something real, Eames." He shoved at Eames' shoulders a little, still grinning.

Eames laughed, wrapping an arm around Arthur's waist as he blew out smoke rings.

"Mmm, something real? Well, I already told you where I'm from, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah...but you also told me there wasn't a lot of opportunity to get out, and yet, here you are."

"Depends what you're willing to do, doesn't it? Most of the lads I grew up with weren't that arsed about doing anything above robbing a few old ladies and kicking a few heads in."

"Not you though?"

"Nahh. I didn't want to stay in that place. Horrible place to grow up. You start life there, you aren't even given a chance. People find out you're dirt poor and from a council estate, especially one in Canning Town, they write you off straight away. Just joing a gang and that's it."

Arthur's heart clenched a little for young Eames. He wondered what could have become of someone so intelligent if he'd had the same opportunities afforded to Arthur. But then he selfishly reminded himself that if Eames had lived a different life, if he'd grown up rich or privileged, then Arthur would never have met him. And that made his heart clench even more.

"So...how _did_ you get out?" Arthur hesitated, worried that he might have been pushing Eames too far. 

"Joined a gang, darling." Eames stated casually.

"Eames! I'm serious. I really want to know." Arthur huffed.

Eames laughed and scratched his hand through Arthur's hair, pushing it off his forehead before he leaned across the bed to stub the cigarette out. 

He settled back down, turning Arthur's face toward him, and looked directly into his eyes.

"I am being serious. How do you think I ended up here? I joined a gang when I was 15."

Arthur was confused, he felt a bit like the conversation was going in circles, and thought that maybe he wasn't going to get anything more out of Eames. "But, I thought you said you weren't like the guys you grew up with?"

"I wasn't, I had more inclination to leave the estate, and fewer scruples about what got me there. I joined this gang of local lads, knew a couple of them off the estate. Was just petty shit at first, robbing people, robbing shops, dealing a few pills and a bit of crap coke. I moved out of my mum's into this old block of flats they'd taken over, but one of them walked in on me fucking a bloke one night, and that was that...exile for Eamesie. They kicked the shit out of me that night, for being a 'fucking fag.'" He laughed ruefully, closing his eyes as though he was trying to block out the memory.

Arthur brushed his hand across Eames' shoulder, and leaned up on an elbow to place a kiss on his cheek. He didn't say anything; he knew Eames was going to carry on, purely out of instinct. He could feel that Eames needed to get this out, in order to make some kind of peace with his past.

"I was only little back then, 18, such a scrawny little thing...bit like you actually," he pinched Arthur's hip and laughed.

"Hey! I'm not scrawny, I'm lean. I will fuck you up, Eames."

"Oh I've no doubt of that poppet, but we'll save that for later, hmm? Anyway, I couldn't defend myself, especially against 7 of them. It's funny isn't it, I was a 'fucking fag' for having sex with a guy, but they were straight as arrows when they rammed their cocks down my throat as a punishment. I knew a bloke though, met him while I was dealing, told me he could hook me up with a job in the city. Big stuff, working for a crime boss, bit like Saito, but a lot fucking nastier. So I went to him, told him I'd do whatever they fucking wanted, but on one condition; they turned a blind eye to my personal life. He was pretty cool, said he didn't give a fuck where I stuck my dick as long as I was loyal and did what I was told. I liked him, he was a good bloke."

Bile rose in Arthur's throat at the thought of an 18 year old Eames being beaten and raped by the people he was supposed to be able to trust. No honor amongst thieves he supposed. He'd like to find every single one and put a bullet right between their eyes. Arthur sometimes realizes just how lucky he was growing up, having parents and a sister who loved him, who cared about where he was and how well he was doing at school. How his life led him where he was today, he had no idea, but he was thankful that it did. Thankful that he was here, curled up warm in bed with the most beautiful man he'd ever laid eyes on. 

"So you went to work for this guy's boss? The crime lord?" He asked gently.

"Yeah. That was when things got a bit out of hand, actually."

Arthur wondered just how out of hand things could be in comparison to having your ass handed to you by your supposed brothers in arms.

"I mean, when I told him I'd do anything, I thought it'd be like pick ups and drop offs of big shipments, not the piss ant little bags of pills we'd been dealing; ecstasy, coke, heroin. Maybe some minding and kicking a few heads to persuade people to keep their mouths shut. Didn't realize it'd be...like that."

"Like what?" Arthur wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know. Although he supposed it couldn't be much worse than what Eames does now, kicking the shit out of people on a regular basis. But then he remembered what Eames was back then; eighteen, alone, scared, and desperate. 

Eames hesitated, shifting his weight around on the mattress, pulling Arthur's head to rest on his lightly furred chest so that Arthur could no longer see his face in the moonlight that filtered through the huge windows in the loft.

"First job, few weeks after I met the boss, Dex called me up in the middle of the night and told me to meet him in a warehouse by the docks; that he needed help getting rid of something. When I got there, I realized it was less of a something and more of a some _one_. This bloke, just lying there on the concrete in about four different parts, his face all bloated where they'd beaten him, his brains splattered across most of the floor. I'd never seen anything like it, I'm almost ashamed to say that I went straight outside and threw up everywhere," Eames laughed bitterly, the underlying implication that he wouldn't bat an eyelid at that sight now. 

Arthur had taken to trailing his fingers up and down Eames' biceps, his other hand curled around the back of Eames' neck, scratching the short hairs there. 

"Dex came out and told me that if I couldn't handle it that I should go home, but quietly reminded me that I _had_ agreed to do whatever he asked of me. I figured it couldn't be that bad. It was just blood, nothing I hadn't seen plenty of before, but fuck, Arthur...there was so much of it. And the smell, the smell of brain, and tissue, and God knows what else, shit probably, was fucking disgusting. I had to help Dex put what was left of him in bags, but I couldn't stop thinking about who he was, if he had a family, someone who'd miss him. Stupid really, because I knew what happened to him meant he must've been a very naughty boy, but it made me really sad to know how fucking undignified it was...ending your life in a warehouse, cut into little pieces and stuffed into a plastic bag, your missus never knowing what happened to you or where you went." He drew a shaky breath, and for all Arthur had previously observed that Eames' job has zero effect on him, it was clear now that once upon a time, it really did. 

"I knew that if I did it, there was no going back, that lifestyle would consume me. But I did it anyway, because I didn't have a choice. What else could've I have done, hmm? I didn't even finish school, I couldn't get a proper job, fuck, I didn't have any skills other than sucking cock and beating people up. It was either that or become a rent boy. And I loved sex too much to ruin it for myself by fucking fat, old, sweaty businessmen."

The thought of Eames being forced into selling his body made Arthur angry. The thought of _anyone_ being forced into selling their body made Arthur angry, but specifically Eames. Somewhere along the way, in between Eames feeling him up that first night outside of Saito's bar, and spending so much time together before Cobb's party, Eames had come to mean a lot to Arthur. He'd perhaps come to mean more than anyone had ever meant to Arthur, and the idea that this witty, intelligent, gorgeous man would've lived his life as a rent boy in London, probably as drug addled as Cobb's customers is absurd. Arthur wasn't exactly thrilled that Eames' job currently consisted of beating on people and dealing with Saito's errands, but at least he had some semblance of a life. And he had Arthur. He turned his face into Eames' chest and took several deep breaths, hoping that Eames wouldn't notice that he was shaking ever so slightly.

"So anyway, I made the 'decision' to do whatever Dex asked me too from there on out. As long as it didn't involve kids or anything nasty like that. We drove this bloke, or what was left of him, out into the countryside and scattered him around in shallow graves. I say 'we'. I mean, Dex drove, and _I_ dug my first graves. I'd gotten quite good at it by the time I left London actually." Eames mused, sounding almost a little wistful about his grave digging skills.

"And that was that. I went home, sampled a little bit of merchandise to help me sleep, and that was my life. Eighteen years old and helping gangsters clear up their fucking mess. It felt like one minute I was just a jumped up little shit harassing people on the street, and the next I was a hardcore criminal. Eventually I just stopped noticing what I was doing; became completely desensitized. One body started to look like another, they all merged together; a severed head is a severed head. I still remember him though, that first bloke. I remember his name, exactly what he looked like, and what his blood smelled like when I was trying to scrub it out from underneath my fingernails. Someone told me a couple of years later that his girlfriend had been pregnant when he 'went missing' and she was still looking for him. I felt like shit, thinking about how I'd helped to take that kid's opportunities away, created another me."

For the first time since Eames started properly telling the tale of his impoverished and miserable teenage years, Arthur speaks up, 

"Eames, you didn't kill him. You didn't do that. Somebody else did, and you just did what you had to do to get by," he whispered, lifting his head from Eames' chest to look him in the eye.

Eames remained staring at the ceiling though, not even glancing at Arthur as he let out a sharp bark of laughter, 

"Ha! Christ, Arthur. Don't make me out to be some kind of poor little child soldier. I might not have killed that one..." he trailed off, leaving Arthur to wonder exactly how that sentence ended. Arthur suppressed a shiver, now genuinely concerned about the turn the conversation had taken, unsure of whether he wanted to hear the rest of Eames' story. 

"Come here, don't look at me like that," Arthur had no idea how Eames could possibly see the expression on his face when he was still staring straight up, but he lay back down on Eames' chest, and listened to the slightly arrhythmic heartbeat beneath his ear. He suspected that Eames, maybe for the first time in a long time, was worried about someone else's opinion of him, of what he'd done in his life.

"I know you think this work doesn't get to me, Arthur, and you're right, it doesn't. Not any more. Once upon a time it haunted me, but I know that the people I deal with deserve having the shit kicked out of them. They're morons and liars, people who think they can get away with screwing Saito over for a quick buck. You and I both know that you don't mess with men like Saito; you don't mess with anyone more powerful than you. Besides, beating someone to a pulp isn't even in same league as what I used to do, so it's not difficult for me to compartmentalize." 

"And if they have families, so they should know better. This life is for single men, you don't want to tell your kids what you do if you're like us, do you, darling?"

Arthur contemplated the idea that Eames was attempting to give him a hint. ' _Single men_.' Was this Eames' way of telling him that the fucking has been nice, but it ultimately doesn't mean anything? He knows this thing with Eames won't go anywhere, it _can't_ go anywhere, but he'd rather live in obliviousness for a little longer. Before he can consider the potentially cryptic message any further, Eames continues with his story.

"Anyway, after I served my time as a cleaner, and general errand boy, Dex promoted me. Mostly accidentally, actually. He started taking me on actual jobs after a couple of years, collecting shipments, roughing people up; like I thought it was going to be from the start. He didn't actually need me there, it was usually just that I was with him when he got a call to go somewhere. So one night, we go to this warehouse just outside the city, collect a huge shipment of coke from this dealer. We knew something was off right from the start, he was a slimy sack of shit, well known for double crossing, and he'd set us up to rob us. Everyone pulled their guns, started shouting at each other, and well...I didn't mean to do it, I just lost my nerve. I wasn't used to that shit," Eames' voice wavered for the first time. Arthur thought he actually sounded scared, as though he was mentally reliving the moment.

"Eames, what did you do?" he held his breath, hoping that Eames wasn't going to say the one thing that Arthur knew he absolutely was going to say.

"I pulled the trigger. I...wasn't even looking" Eames exhaled, hand trembling where it rested between Arthur's shoulder blades.

"I just, pulled it. And then everything went quiet. When I turned, there was blood splattered everywhere, all over me, all over Dex. I'd shot the guy straight in the side of the head; dead before he hit the ground. I didn't...I didn't mean to do it. He was an arsehole, and he probably deserved it more than a lot of people, but I didn't mean to do that. I'd heard people talk about an outer body experience before, always thought it was pretentious bollocks, but I honestly felt like I was looking at myself, asking what the fuck I'd done this time. I managed to keep my gag reflex in check this time, but I couldn't stop shaking," Arthur noticed that Eames was shivering as he told the story, but he couldn't decide if it was through the cold or dragging up a long suppressed memory.

"Dex said he'd sort it out, not to worry about it. I'd just killed someone, and he told me not to worry about it!" Eames spat out bitterly.

"I went home, threw up a lot, burned my clothes, drank half a bottle of vodka, cried myself to sleep, had several nightmares, and that was that. I repeated that sequence quite a lot over the next year or so; Dex figured that now I'd done one, I might as well get a promotion. No use finding someone else when he'd already got someone who could "deal with it." Not to mention that I owed him indefinitely for cleaning up and taking the blame with the boss. You take the blame for another guy's mistake, especially a murder, and he owns you until he says otherwise. I've killed eleven people in my life, including that accidental one. The rest were all on purpose, and they all deserved it. I've shot people, I've beaten people to death with my bare hands, and on one memorable occasion, I strangled a man with a shoelace. So, that's me, Arthur. That's who I am, that's what I've done. Still want to be here with me, in my bed?" he phrased it as a question, but the tone indicated that he thought he already knew Arthur's response.

Arthur was speechless. He had no idea what a person was supposed to say when their lover confessed that he'd killed eleven people. He knew what Eames did, he knew that anyone who worked for Saito was a criminal, but Eames was a murderer. A _multiple_ murderer. He felt Eames lean across and retrieve the cigarettes from the side table, lifting the arm resting over Arthur to light one. Arthur couldn't help but think that that was Eames' way of quietly offering Arthur a way to leave, freeing him from Eames' grasp. He didn't though, he merely reached up above his head and held his hand out for the cigarette. He inhaled a few times, quietly considering his next words, and then cleared his throat. Eames tensed beneath him, maybe preparing himself for whatever Arthur was about to throw at him.

"You...you don't do that for Saito, do you? Kill people I mean. Do you kill people now?" Arthur knew he was babbling, but it suddenly became the most important question in the world.

"No. God, no. And I'm not proud of it. Thinking about it is one of the most difficult things in the world for me, but it's something I had to do." Arthur lifted himself up, and settled down beside Eames, facing his profile, as he passed the cigarette back to him. Eames took a long drag, and scrubbed both hands across his face, before finally turning to face Arthur.

"Look, Arthur, what I did back then, I hated it. I hated myself, and I hated my life. By the time I'd killed number eleven, I was convinced that was the rest of my life. Death and misery, probably being offed myself by the time I was 35. But the boss fucked up, got too big for his boots, sent me to kill someone more important than he was and I had to leave. Dex made sure of it, said I'd paid my debt and I may as well go and start a new life across the pond. What Saito has me do might not be the greatest thing in the world, but it's all I know, and I'm just roughing people up, scaring them, before it's too late and someone else comes to kill them." Eames ran his hand down Arthur's cheek, just a ghost of a touch, looking more worried than Arthur had ever seen him about anything.

"Well, I'm not exactly thrilled about it, but I don't think you're that person any more, Eames. That's your past. I can't judge you on who you were before I knew you. You said you killed people who deserved it, and I believe you. Fuck, you didn't have to tell me any of that. You could've just made something up," Arthur considered the fact that his own confession paled in comparison with Eames' heartbreaking honesty about his behemoth of a double life. Arthur still has secrets that he's not ready to share with Eames, doesn't know if he'll ever be ready for that.

Eames appeared to visibly deflate before his eyes, his shoulders dropping as his eyes closed and he breathed a sigh. 

"God, who sent you to me?" He leaned forward and brushed his lips across Arthur's, gently licking along them.

"Higher powers than you or I, Eames," Arthur let out a tiny laugh, scratching his hands up and down Eames' back.

"Well, seeing as how I am _definitely_ going to hell, you must be some kind of gift to tide me over until the really bad stuff starts. Although, I suppose I will only be going as far as the seventh circle, with all the other violent scum. Maybe they eighth if they want to be picky over the thieving. But at least I won't be heading for the ninth with the all the traitors, eh poppet?" Eames laughed, leaning forward to properly kiss Arthur as he rolls over on top of him.

He wrapped his legs around Eames' waist, and allowed Eames to nuzzle and nibble his way across Arthur's jaw and down the side of his neck, sucking tiny little pin prick bruises into his chest, as he considered just how real these circles of hell were and how he might escape his own fate. That eventually lost out to the realization that Eames must've read Dante at some point in his life. And fuck if that wasn't one of the hottest things ever. 

Right now, it was as though all they both needed was to be as close to each other as possible. Arthur just wanted to feel the pressure of Eames' warm, hairy chest against his, the ghost of his lips across Arthur's neck, the press of large callused hands into his back as Eames fucked into him. As Arthur succumbed to Eames, and the rhythmic movement of their hips...the sound of their combined gasps and moans, he allowed himself to let go of about everything Eames had told him tonight, everything he'd told Eames, and most importantly, everything that the future may hold for the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [ tumblr. ](http://sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com/)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been a week since their mutual confessions, and now Arthur had dragged Eames into a toy store. Sadly not the fun, sexy kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by [ Heather. ](http://www.theshorteststack.tumblr.com)

Eames wasn't entirely convinced that Arthur was as unaffected by his confession as he'd appeared to be. He kept looking for signs of...what, he wasn't sure. Disgust? Fear?

Arthur had admitted that he'd also killed men before, but only out of self defense. It had been a shoot or be shot kind of thing and it'd only been two, which Eames privately thought didn't measure up to his own record. It's not that _Eames_ was ashamed, he'd made his peace with it a long time ago. It was just a part of his history and now it wasn't. He didn't try and fool himself that it was the _only_ option, but it was the option he had at the time and the one that he'd taken. No use crying over spilt milk as it were. He just didn't want _Arthur_ to be ashamed of him.

So far so good, though. It had been a week since their mutual confessions, and now Arthur had dragged Eames into a toy store. Sadly not the fun, sexy kind, but the kind for kids, and Eames was getting bored watching Arthur pick up one toy after another, frown at it and put it back down. Just to pick it up again five minutes later.

He slid up behind Arthur and pressed his body against him, wrapping his arms around the narrow waist, and resting his chin on Arthur's bony shoulder. New Orleans wasn't a particularly gay friendly town but they were alone in this part of the store and frankly, Eames didn't give a toss.

"I'm bored, darling." Eames knew he sounded petulant, and thought that maybe it looked a little worse because he was pouting just a tiny bit.

"Eames, you're as bad as a kid. You'd think you'd enjoy it in here." Arthur muttered, his attention still focused on two toys in his hands.

"Mmmm...not the kind of toys I like." He slid his hands up Arthur's chest and bit into his neck hard enough to hurt.

"Eames!" Arthur scolded, but his voice was a little breathless.

"Let's go home, poppet."

"I just can't decide. You're the most immature of the two of us...you pick." He held the two toys up, and Eames quickly pointed to the fluffy, white puppy with a spangly collar.

"That one."

"Maybe I should just get both?" Arthur mused, ignoring Eames.

Eames huffed. He really did appreciate the fact that Arthur trusted him with information about his family. He was well aware that it was a bloody big deal for him to know anything about them. Arthur trusted him enough that even if things went sour between them that he wouldn't take it out on Arthur's hidden family. 

But he couldn't care less about sprogs and what toys they wanted when he could be in bed with Arthur, holding him down and sucking his cock, while Arthur gasped, and moaned, and arched, and...

He grabbed both toys and dragged Arthur to the counter, who trailed behind him wordlessly. He plopped the stuffed dog and a purple fluffy ball, which seemed to have eyes and possibly fangs, next to the cash register.

"We'll take both, please." He pulled out his wallet and waited.

"That'll be 44.67." The man drawled, smiling.

_No wonder he's bloody smiling_ Eames thought darkly, as he forked over the cash and accepted the change. _Almost 30 bloody quid for some cotton, stuffed with more sodding cotton. What a racket!_

He ignored Arthur's protests about him paying as they left the store, and simply carried on walking; the thought of getting Arthur back to bed now the only thing on his mind.

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to. Mostly because you would've never made a bloody decision. Now the sprog will have two."

"I still have to get something for Jacob. He's eight. I don't think sparkly stuffed animals are going to do it."

"Well, later we can get him some toy guns and comics and be done with it. I'll drive you there myself, _and_ to the post office. But right now, I want to go home and I want to undress you, and then I want to suck your cock. Maybe until you come...maybe not; I haven't decided." Eames let his voice drop a register.

Arthur visibly shivered and nodded quickly.

"Yeah. Okay." He swallowed, and Eames had to refrain from biting his adorable, red, sticky out ears.

***

It was raining again.

Arthur had discovered that rain in New Orleans wasn't much like anywhere else. It was relentless and didn't do anything at all to cool the heat. It ran in rivulets down the street and kicked up pollen from the magnolia blossoms. Arthur had taken to wearing Eames' t-shirts because his usual button downs made him feel like a sweaty, soggy mess. Also it really seemed to turn Eames on, which was an added bonus.

He was lying on Eames' couch with a book open on his chest, smoking; the windows open, the rain hammering across the tin roof. There was a rapidly cooling cup of coffee on table beside his elbow, and he was mostly lost in thought. They'd been together for about a month now, still waiting in limbo for Saito to decide what he wanted them to do next. He was feeling restless, but he knew there was nothing they could do but wait and see.

His mind wandered back to Eames, as it usually did. He hadn't been totally surprised by Eames' secrets; some of it had come up in his research of the man, and he knew that someone like Eames wouldn't have been able to keep his hands clean for this long. It was kind of a given. And he found that it didn't really bother him. He didn't know any of the people Eames had killed, and he was sure that like Eames had said, they weren't good people.

What bothered him more was that Eames trusted him so much; and so quickly. Arthur still had secrets that he was guarding. Secrets that he knew would be the end of this. He felt like a coward, and it wasn't that he thought that Eames had told him everything; no one was that trusting, not in this business. But he had told Arthur the important stuff, the run-away-now-if-you-can't-handle-it kind of stuff.

He sighed and took a drag, watching as the smoke spiralled up to the high ceilings, his free arm draped across the back of the couch. He was happy, and mostly selfish; he didn't want this to end before it had to. So he was keeping his mouth shut, until he couldn't any more.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door clanging open and Eames hustling in, shutting the door with a bang. He was soaking wet, his coat pulled tight around him with one hand, and grinning like a maniac.

"I got you a present, Arthur, darling." He shook himself like a dog, letting the water cascade to the floor.

"Oh, what is it then? Soggy hugs?" Arthur sat up with a smile, and ground out his cigarette.

"Well, of course that, but also this." He opened his coat and pulled out the most pathetic kitten Arthur had ever seen in his entire life. He gaped at Eames in confusion. The poor thing was soaking wet and shivering; it fit right into Eames' big hand and was clutching onto it with all its strength. It let out a sad little mewl, and Eames winced as the thing's claws dug deeper into his skin.

"I've named it Arthur. Because it's prickly and it scratched me when I tried to pick it up." Eames beamed, clearly very proud of himself. Arthur looked at him fondly, ignoring the pang in his chest from his earlier worries

"Right. You've brought me a drowned, _mean_ cat because it reminds you of me. Thanks a lot, Eames." He attempted to scowl, but Eames standing there dripping, with a cat firmly attached to his hand was just about the cutest thing Arthur had ever seen.

"Here. Let me see him." Arthur stood and pried the tiny paws off Eames, cuddling the kitten up against his chest. It immediately curled up against him and flexed its claws against him. 

"See. I knew you two would get on like a house on fire." Eames began pulling off his coat and lent down to unlace his boots.

Arthur marveled a little about the kind of man who could kill, or beat other men without thought, but couldn't leave a homeless kitten out in the rain. 

"God. I love you." He blurted out, his eyes widening as he realized what he'd said. He clutched the kitten a little tighter as Eames froze in the middle of pulling off his boots.

Eames straightened and looked at him, one boot still on and the other in his hand. 

"I'm sorry. You...you, don't have to say it back or anything. I didn't mean to say it and I am _such_ an idiot." Arthur tried to salvage the situation by babbling complete nonsense.

"Arthur. Stop. Did you mean it?" Eames was still dripping water on the floor, chewing his lip, his grey eyes intense as he stared at Arthur in disbelief.

Arthur couldn't bring himself to take it back, so he nodded.

Eames dropped his boot and clomped over to him, lopsided with his one bare foot, and took Arthur's face in his hands.

"I love you too. Don't be sorry."

And then they were kissing, Eames' hair dripping into Arthur's eyes and his mouth warm against Arthur's lips; stubble scraping across his chin and tongue probing into his mouth. Arthur sighed into it and leaned closer, forgetting the cat until it yowled angrily and reached up to swipe at Eames' chest.

Eames laughed, pulling back from Arthur.

"You'd think it'd be a bit nicer seeing as I rescued it. Ungrateful sod." He rubbed the cat's head affectionately and pressed another brief kiss to Arthur's mouth, careful not to crush the tiny animal between them.

"Go take a shower. And then we'll go get cat supplies." Arthur pushed Eames off toward the bathroom.

"Today is the very best day of my life, darling. I have a new pet and you love me." Eames still hadn't taken off his other shoe and was doing an awkward dance toward the bathroom.

"What is that?" Arthur laughed.

"Oh, this? It's my Arthur loves me dance. Don't you like it?" He did a few hip circles and air thrusts to demonstrate.

"It's fantastic. " Arthur replied dryly, unable to conceal the huge smile on his face. 

"Well, course it is." Eames disappeared into the bathroom with a final thrust, and closed the door behind him.

Arthur couldn't help but cling to Arthur The Cat. What on Earth has he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [ tumblr. ](http://www.sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com)


	13. Chapter 13

Eames threw in his cards and excused himself from the game; he'd won a fair amount and though he'd never say it out loud, he missed Arthur. He hadn't seen the man all day, and his chest felt tight when he waved off the other gamers with a laugh and a promise to come back next week.

He entered the loft to find Arthur asleep on the bed. Arthur the Cat was curled up on his chest, rising and falling slowly with Arthur's breathing. A book lay face up on the sheets and Eames craned his neck to see the cover, laughing when he saw it was of the bodice rippers from his own collection. Arthur had teased him unmercifully about them, but Eames had just shrugged. He liked some mindless reading from time to time, no shame in that.

He'd missed Arthur with a dull, slow ache. Even now, when the man was right in front of him and would be more than happy to be woken up, he still missed him until he was able to touch him. To wrap the man up in his arms, not even for sex, just simply to be beside each other. He couldn't shake this feeling of dread, like their time was somehow limited. He didn't know where it had come from and he acknowledged it was irrational, because no one was separating them ever if Eames had anything to say about it. He stripped down to his pants and slid in next to Arthur. The cat opened an eye and stretched, yawning in Eames' face before settling back down. Eames smiled and threw an arm around Arthur's waist and a knee over his legs, pressing his face into Arthur's long neck, still smiling. Arthur reached up and patted him clumsily.

"'lo," he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Arthur."

It was a moot point, because Arthur had already fallen back to sleep. Eames knew he could get a rise out of him if he chose to, but right now he was just content to breathe him in and watch him sleep. Another thing he would never admit to if asked; he'd happily spend a Friday night cuddling with his dead to the world boyfriend.

***

Bourbon Street was loud and bright, just like it was every night. Eames had assured Arthur that this drunken chaos was nothing compared to Mardi Gras. 

"You'll just have to show me then, won't you?" Arthur had to shout to be heard over the revelry.

"That's half a year away, poppet. Are you still going to be here to be shown?" Eames asked, his eyes serious as he swigged from his sweating bottle of beer. 

Arthur stopped him with a hand.

"Of course I fucking will be. Don't even ask," Arthur scowled at him. He wasn't sure where they'd be, but the one thing he did know was that they'd be together.

Eames laughed and pulled him into a dark alley, the sounds and lights just barely muted. He pushed Arthur against the wall, setting his beer bottle onto a ledge and tilting Arthur's face up with both hands. He pressed his lips to Arthur's, running his tongue against them until Arthur opened his mouth and pressed back into him. They stayed like that, kissing in the dark, until Arthur pulled back to breathe.

"Sorry, love. It's just a little bit new to me. I've never done this."

"What? Made out in a dark alley? I find that hard to believe."

Eames laughed and bit at Arthur's lip, licking over it to soothe the pain.

"No, cheeky."

"It's not like I have either, Eames. We can just...I don't know...fumble through this."

"I'm happy to fumble with you," Eames pushed his hips against Arthur's and leered, waggling his eyebrows.

Arthur laughed, his shoulders shaking. Leave it to Eames to always bring it around to something dirty. He said as much, and tugged Eames back down by his neck, relaxing into the kiss, focusing on Eames' heat, and sighing through his nose.

"You don't have any dangerous secrets, darling? Any terrifying exes I should be worried about?"

Arthur felt himself go cold despite the heat that Eames was radiating. He tried to school his features, forcing a smirk as best as he could.

"I really think we should be worrying more about the number of exes you've had."

Eames leaned back and put his hand over his heart. "Oh. You wound me. So mean."

He pouted and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief that Eames hadn't noticed that he hadn't actually answered the question. Eames pulled him back out into the crowd and toward another drink. Arthur hung back a bit to calm himself. He took a deep breath and jogged to catch up, tucking himself under Eames' arm and smiling up at him.

***

They were at a club, a proper one with a huge sound system, strobe lights, and a packed dance floor. Eames loved the way Arthur moved in his arms, despite Arthur's insistence that he was a terrible dancer. He had been at first; all stiff arms, wooden hips, and uncomfortable grimacing. Eames had laughed and reeled him in closer, turning him to face toward the other dancers.

"Just move with me," Eames put his hands on Arthur's hips and began grinding and circling them against his own. It took almost a full song before Arthur actually relaxed and began dancing properly. Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist and pressed his face into Arthur's neck, inhaling the tang of sweat and expensive cologne. He licked it, feeling the vibration of Arthur moaning rumble through his chest.

By the time they were ready to leave, they were both painfully hard and it was virtually impossible to keep their hands to themselves in the taxi. The moment they stepped in the door to Eames' loft, he pushed Arthur down onto the bed, holding him still with one hand firmly on his chest whilst Arthur wiggled and arched across the bed.

"Come on, fuck me, Eames," he gasped through clenched teeth.

Eames didn't say anything, just flipped open the lube and began working Arthur open with slow, careful fingers. Arthur was reduced to a sweaty, slick mess by the time Eames was ready. He rolled on a condom and guided his cock in slowly, crying out when Arthur gripped his shoulders and shoved himself down until Eames was buried inside Arthur all the way.

Arthur rolled his hips, arching his back and moaning. Eames remembered himself and began moving. He lifted one of Arthur's legs and held it bent up and out, his hands leaving marks on Arthur's thigh as he pounded in.

They were so worked up that it didn't take either of them very long. Eames could feel heat rolling up his spine and then he was coming, the sensation of Arthur squeezing around him as he came himself with one hand wrapped around his dick.

Eames collapsed on top of Arthur with an _oof_. He knew Arthur looked small, but his body could take a lot. He did make noises about the mess between them, but he betrayed himself when he wrapped his legs around Eames' waist and his arms around his shoulders, carding hands through Eames' sweaty hair.

Eames waited for his breathing to catch up, listening to Arthur's heartbeat as he did. He tucked his arms underneath Arthur and hugged him close, feeling the wet stickiness of the drying come; he winced but couldn't bring himself to move from this position.

"Eames?" Arthur asked quietly.

Eames tilted his head up, resting his chin on Arthur's sternum, and raised an eyebrow.

"Have you ever thought about leaving here? I mean, we could go anywhere."

"Of course we could, love. But, we have jobs and each other. We have Arthur The Cat and all of your boring books. Why would we want to leave?"

Arthur didn't smile, he simply nodded and pushed at Eames' shoulders so he could stand. Eames felt like he'd said the wrong thing until Arthur turned back to him and held out a hand.

"Come shower with me. We're gross." He flashed a smile, dimples and all. Eames scrambled up off the bed and followed him, all worry forgotten at the sight of Arthur's grin and naked bum.


	14. Chapter 14

Eames had the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, and could only partly hear Arthur's far away voice. He was bent over awkwardly, casually picking the lock of Arthur's door, shimmying the tool up and down before he heard a satisfying click.

"Eames, I gave you a key," Arthur huffed, but Eames could hear the fondness in his voice and almost see the smile that Arthur was surely fighting.

"And that was lovely of you, darling. But I like to keep my hand in," he tucked his tools back into their pouch and moved the phone to his hand and closer to his ear.

"What if someone called the police?"

"No one cares what anybody else is doing in this neighborhood. If they call the police, the police might notice that _they're_ doing something wrong, you silly git," Eames snorted.

"Well, just make yourself at home, and try not to get arrested. I won't bail you out," Arthur's voice was stern.

"Yes you will," Eames pushed the door open and stepped inside. No matter how many times he came here, which admittedly wasn't often since Arthur spent most nights at Eames' flat, his heart always clenched at the emptiness of it. It was the flat of a decidedly lonely person who'd just given up and settled into it.

"What would you have done if you hadn't met me, love?" He almost whispered.

"Probably wouldn't have criminals breaking into my apartment," Arthur murmured and sighed loudly. "You always get maudlin when you visit my apartment. It's not that bad."

"It's quite pathetic, Arthur," Eames attempted a teasing tone. 

"I love you, Eames. It doesn't matter what I would've done without you. Because we have each other now. Right?"

Eames brushed the wetness out of his eyes, blinking and letting out a shaky breath.

"Of course we do. I love you too. Don't mind me, just a sentimental idiot," Eames laughed quietly and flopped down onto the couch.

"Well I'll be there in about fifteen or twenty. Try not to cry all over my stuff, you big baby."

"Arthur, can we just move you into mine? Why do you even need this place?"

"Um, I guess...I don't really...We can talk about it tonight. I've actually got to go."

"Right, bye then."

Arthur hung up without saying goodbye, but Eames knew not to be offended. Arthur thought the phone hanging up should be goodbye enough. _And here I am, crying on a dusty couch._

He leaned forward to grab one of the many books piled next to the couch, he wasn't picky; just wanted something to kill the time, knocking a file off the coffee table as he does. A few papers slide out and scatter across the carpet. He drops to his knees with a pained groan and begins scooping them up and shoving them back into their rightful place. He stops when a photograph catches his eye. It's him and Saito eating at a café around the corner from the bar.

It's the kind of photo that Eames can instinctively tell is taken from a long way away, but with high powered, professional camera equipment. He shuffled through and there were more, mostly of Saito and Cobb, but a few more with just Eames alone. Eames suddenly felt numb and sat back heavily against the couch. His mind was whirring with questions and he felt the one answer he didn't want rising to the surface. He shook his head, not allowing himself to believe what his mind was telling him was true as he grabbed up page after page. There are journal entries and official surveillance documents; he found his own background check with all of his messy history printed out in black and white for Arthur to read.

There are faxes and printed emails from someone called "Iron Eagle." Eames took a minute to think what kind of git gives themselves that nickname. He began to remember whispered arguments that cut off when Eames entered the room, Arthur needing to run errands by himself, his phone being turned off for hours on end with no explanation of where he'd been. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. He brought his knees up, resting his forehead against them as he fought back tears for the second time today. The papers crumpled in his fist as he tried to breathe. He'd been fooled. This whole thing had been some sort of cover and he had just fallen for it like a daft bastard. He'd fallen in love with a bloody DEA agent...walked right in to it like a blithering knob. Arthur was probably having a good laugh with all his agent friends as Eames sat there in absolute shock at what had happened to him.

He didn't know how long he sat there, his breathing heavy, attempting to stem the panic welling up in his chest. It seemed like no time at all had passed before Arthur was standing there in the doorway, his eyes wide and his skin pale.

"Eames," Arthur swallowed, dropping his messenger bag to the ground. "I didn't mean for you to find out this way."

He took a hesitant step towards Eames. 

"Don't fucking come near me," Eames bit out. His voice shook only a little, as he waved the first photo at Arthur. "Haven't you fucking lied enough, Arthur?! What shit are you about to spin me this time?! You're a bloody coward...you meant for me to find this, didn't you?"

Arthur didn't say a word, just looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists.

"Didn't you?!" Eames screamed, his voice guttural, making Arthur jump and look up at him again.

"Maybe. Subconsciously, I did," Arthur bit his lip. "I wanted you to know, I wanted to tell you."

"But you didn't," Eames replied flatly.

They stare at each other, breathing shallowly. Eames' heart twisted at the tears forming in the corner of Arthur's eyes as he fought back his own.

"I cannot _believe_ I was such a bloody idiot to buy into all this shit," He muttered as he stood.

"It's not shit. I do love you. I want us to leave together. Anywhere you want, Eames," Arthur held out his hands, his tone pleading.

"Right. 'Love.' You don't live a fucking lie with someone you love, Arthur," He threw the photograph onto the floor and stepped on it. "Is Arthur even your real name? Am I in love with a man whose name I don't even know?!" He shouted in Arthur's face.

"No, Arthur is my real name. Levine's not though."

"Well, doesn't that just make everything better," He threw up his arms and then let them drop with a heavy slap against his sides.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop fucking apologizing, you miserable cunt. I can't believe this. Tell me you're having a laugh. That this is all some elaborate bullshit prank," He pleaded, unable to hold back the tears any longer. "Please, Arthur."

Arthur took a deep breath, slowly shaking his head.

"They aren't interested in you though, Eames. It's just Cobb and Saito they're after. I was going to make sure nothing happened to you," Arthur pleads with Eames.

Eames laughs humorlessly. "Right. You have that kind of pull. Just oh...'that's the one I've been shagging. Don't arrest him.' That was your big plan?"

Eames heaves a sigh at Arthur's telling silence.

"Fuck you, Arthur whoever the fuck you are." Eames made his way for the door but Arthur stood in his way, his beautiful mouth frowning, his hands grabbing at Eames' shoulders.

"Please...please don't go, Eames."

Eames stopped and looked at him, slowly bringing his hands up to frame Arthur's face. He tilted Arthur's head back and searches his face, both of them losing control of their tears. He pressed his lips to Arthur's, tasting salt and coffee. Arthur clutched at Eames' shirt, letting out a muffled sob from under Eames' lips.

Eames let go and pushed Arthur back gently, attempting to go around him but Arthur wouldn't stop clutching at his chest.

"Let go of me, Arthur," He couldn't look at the man, his gaze directed firmly toward the door. 

Arthur tried to tug him back, talking between his quiet sobs.

"Please Eames, I'm so sorry."

"Arthur. I'm warning you, if you don't let go of me and stop saying you're sorry, I _am_ going to have to hit you."

"No, I won't stop until you say you'll stay and listen," Arthur hiccoughed, his voice shaking.

Eames couldn't stay another minute, he felt the rage and terrible grief welling up inside of him. He didn't want to stay and listen to Arthur, because he knew that if he watched that tear stained face and wobbly mouth, he'd end up being the one apologizing and forgiving Arthur. He was utterly mad for Arthur and he knew he couldn't trust himself around the man.

Arthur wouldn't let him leave though, his long fingers digging into the meat of Eames' arms, probably leaving finger shaped bruises. The last bruises he'd ever have from Arthur and they'd fade much faster than the pain currently gathered in his chest. He twisted out of the grip, and without another thought he brought back his fist; smashing it into Arthur's mouth, feeling teeth scraping his knuckles, his fist wet with blood, spit, and tears. Arthur stumbled back, bringing his hands up to cup his face. Eames expected to see outrage in Arthur's brown eyes, but all he saw was resignation. For some reason, that enraged Eames further, and with a low cry of anger and pain he banged out of the flat, slamming the door and finally allowing the tears come as he slowly walked home. 

***

A few hours later he let himself into his own flat, the metal rumble of the door loud in his ears. The drinks he'd stopped to have on the way home had him feeling less despairing, with a pleasant buzz. He'd almost propositioned a few people, imagining burying his anger and pain in meaningless sex. But the only ones he wanted were slim and dark haired, and really not what he wanted at all. So instead, he'd knocked back more than a few and stumbled home.

He'd managed to get the door shut and locked before he realized he wasn't alone. He swung around and felt instantly sober; like a cold splash of water suddenly clearing his head. Saito was sitting comfortably on his sofa, petting Arthur The Cat, a folder with sickeningly familiar photos slipping out onto the table in front of him.

"Mr. Eames. We have been waiting for you. I believe we have a problem."

Eames didn't bother arguing, there weren't any words that could fix the situation. He knew that his usual charm and sheepish smile would do nothing for him and he wasn't going to waste his breath apologizing or, God forbid, begging. 

"Put my cat down," he felt himself get so angry that he was breathless; Saito's fingers rubbing between the cat's ears seemed more of a breach of conduct than the man breaking into his flat. _You're about to die, and you're worried about the bloody cat._

Saito smiled and released the cat who ran to hide under the bed, meowing desperately. Eames felt a bizarre impulse to soothe it and tell it everything was going to be okay. But it wasn't. Nothing was going to be okay now. Saito nodded and Eames just caught Tadashi approaching out of the corner of his eye; he didn't fight it, just waited for the needle to do its job. As darkness overcame him and the floor rushed up to greet him felt relieved, thinking _'at least I won't have to live that long without Arthur.'_ Death would be easier than that kind of pain, he was sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An apology for samanthastephens who was the person who guessed the closest to what Arthur's secret was. We lied a bit just to make sure the secret wasn't ruined for every one else. So sorry Samantha. Must be all that nose wiggling that helped you guess.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so sorry. *hands*

Arthur stood on the curb, his face throbbing in time with his sluggish heart. He tongued the split in his lip, tasting iron and salt. He couldn't just stand out here looking pathetic, Eames wasn't going to come out and invite him in. More like Eames would hit him again and Arthur knew he deserved it. He'd take a hundred punches if it only meant that Eames would forgive him after a hundred and one.

He trudged up to the heavy door and rang the bell. He could hear the hollow gong ringing through the loft and waited, chewing on his lip and reopening the cut. He wasn't sure what was worse, Eames ignoring him or not actually being there at all. He imagined Eames with a nameless body, whispering in their ear, talking them into taking him home. Arthur knew that it wasn't a hard thing for Eames to convince someone to do that. Arthur still didn't know how he himself had resisted for so long.

He shut his eyes tight, pressing the heels of his palms into the sockets to erase the mental image. He almost didn't feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, and when he did it was too late anyway. He frowned down at the missed call from an unknown number. His DEA contacts were programmed into this phone as dull names like David or Lauren. They didn't have any reason to call him from an unknown number. He thumbed over the screen, pausing at the call back button.

Maybe it was Eames?

He took a hopeful breath and called.

"Mr. Levine. We seem to have a problem here," the familiar clipped accent of Saito came through the phone, causing Arthur's heart to drop. He found it difficult to swallow as Saito continued talking, detailing exactly what he wanted from Arthur.

***

Eames could feel himself fading. He was dropping in and out of conscious, the time between awakening becoming longer and longer. When he was aware, it was hazy and pain filled, his vision tinged with blood that kept dripping into his eyes. He was tied to a cold metal chair, his hands twisted painfully behind him and his feet cuffed to each leg; in the middle of a large, airy warehouse with high up, taped over windows. He made a half-hearted joke about it being a cliché, and earned himself a back handed slap from Tadashi.

"So much for bringing you food then?" He mumbled through the blood and possibly a few loose teeth.

Tadashi didn't react but he could hear Saito's low laugh from behind him.

"We have spoken to your Arthur. He will come and rescue you so we can eliminate you both at once. It seemed...neater."

"He's not fucking mine. He's not worth your time. I'm the one who used him to get information; I was the liaison, he's just a gopher. You've got me, you don't need him," Eames coughed wetly and tried to turn and see Saito as much as his binds would allow him.

"Mr. Eames. Please do not waste your last few breaths. We know exactly who he is and what he does. You are clearly the one who was 'used,' and now you must both pay for it."

The amusement in Saito's voice pained Eames more than any of the hits he'd suffered over the past few hours. He gasped and squeezed back tears; there was no way that he was letting Saito see his weakness.

There was some sort of whispered conversation somewhere to his left; he was starting to drift again and couldn't be bothered to make out what they were saying. He could hear footsteps and a door opening, letting in the sun and then quickly shutting again, leaving Eames alone. He fought the sluggishness and forced himself to listen carefully. He was almost sure that he was completely alone, so he finally allowed himself to slump forward, letting the fog take him under. 

***

Someone was slapping his face, repeatedly whispering his name. He jerked back to get away from the hands and the voice but he had nowhere to go, the binds biting cruelly into his wrists. He blinked his eyes open and Arthur came into focus; his mouth was moving but Eames couldn't make out what he was saying. He shut his eyes tight, counting to five before opening them again. Arthur was still there, waving a pen knife in one hand, his mouth moving as he stepped around to saw through the rope bindings. Eames could feel the minute vibrations jarring up his arm to his painful shoulders. He slumped forward and almost slipped out of the chair, but Arthur was right there to brace him up and push him back into the chair with his strong, capable hands.

His voice began to filter through, and all Eames could hear were soothing words and whispered 'I'm sorrys.' He could move his feet, so Arthur must have picked the locks before he'd even woken up. This sent a bolt of panic through Eames, shaking away most of the haze of agony.

He reached up his arms to gently cradle Arthur's head.

"How long have you been here? Arthur?! How long?!" He managed to slur out.

"Too long, Eames. Let's get out of here. Can you walk?" Arthur pulled him up; he wobbled a little but quickly found his feet. 

"It's a trap, Arthur. They wanted to lure you here. You shouldn't have come." Eames shuffled, leaning more weight on Arthur than he'd like to admit.

"I know it's a trap, Eames. I just don't care. I'm not going to just leave you here, for fuck's sake. Whether you believe me or not, I love you."

"I believe you," Eames whispers, the door didn't seem any closer than it did 30 seconds ago, like they were walking on a bloody treadmill. His whole body felt weak and it was a huge burden just to take a deep breath and keep going. He opened his mouth to tell Arthur to just leave him, but Arthur muttered to him to shut up before the words could even come out.

"I really thought you had a greater sense of self preservation, Mr. Levine," Saito's voice carried from another entrance across the expanse of concrete. Arthur cursed and turned, pushing Eames behind him, his own gun out and aimed at Saito. Eames scoffed and stepped back up next to Arthur, using all his willpower not to stumble and keep his gun arm from shaking.

Arthur spared a moment to roll his eyes but he didn't try to make Eames move back again.

"I guess you thought wrong. _I_ thought you wouldn't be the one to do your own dirty work. It's not something you normally bother with."

Saito merely smirked at his assertion.

"Oh, you were right. I'm not." 

Saito stepped quickly to the side to reveal Tadashi, already squeezing the trigger. The sound of the gun ricocheted and seemed to last forever. Eames had read about time slowing down and feeling as though you were swimming through water, but had never realized what it felt like until right then. He saw the trajectory of the bullet, and Arthur squeezing his own round off, watching paralyzed as Arthur jerked back, his gun clattering to the floor. He fell in shaft of sunlight creeping in under the taped over windows, his hands clutching his stomach and his whole body curled in on itself.

Everything sped up again, as though it had been buffering, and Eames swung his attention from Arthur to Tadashi; firing off a shot that caught the other man in the forehead. Particles of brain and bone and blood splattered the wall behind him. Eames took aim again, his face void, and shot Saito in the knee, watching as the older man keeled over with a piercing wail.

"Don't fucking move, you fucking cunt. I'm not finished with you," he stepped a bit closer and looked down at the man. He shot once more into Tadashi's head, creating an unrecognizable bloody lump, blood spraying across Saito's face.

"If you even move an inch I'll do the same to you. I won't hesitate. Do you understand?"

Saito nodded, still clutching his knee. Eames tilted his head and looked at Saito, thinking for a moment, and then lifted his gun; shooting Saito's other knee out. Saito screamed and slumped over, his skin pale and his breathing heavy. Eames watched as the man passed out from the pain. He turned, moving back to Arthur as quickly as the adrenaline would allow his battered body to move. Arthur was lying flat on his back, gasping and moaning as blood pooled around him at an alarming rate, running in rivulets along the scarred and dirty floor. Eames dropped to his knees beside him, letting go of the gun and dragging Arthur into his lap.

"We have to get you to a hospital, love."

"I think it's...it's a bit late for that, Eames," Arthur coughed, his teeth red and slick with his own blood.

Eames gently caressed Arthur's cheek, leaving behind a smear of blood.

"I'm so sorry, darling. I was such an idiot. Please don't leave me, please don't go... I only just found you."

Arthur clutched at Eames' shirt and flashed him a pained smile.

"I'm the one who should be sorry you idiot. I..." he coughed again. "..I betrayed you. What circle of hell is that again?"

Eames bent over Arthur, gathering him up closer. He couldn't speak, sobs were ripping out of him, wracking his whole body and jarring Arthur. He felt Arthur's now cold hand reaching up and touching his face briefly, his long fingers wet with blood and shaking. He could feel tears and blood mixing, dripping off his chin. He buried his face into Arthur's neck, clutching him to his chest. He could hear himself wailing, but didn't think it could possibly be him. It sounded like some far away animal crying out in agony.

"Eames. I love you."

Eames pulled back and nodded. He brusquely wiped his tears off his face, probably just spreading more blood around.

"I love you too, darling."

"Promise..."

"Yes? Promise what? Anything, Arthur. Anything," he leaned closer to Arthur's mouth to hear his quiet plea.

"Promise to get out of it. Go," he whispered, his eyes closing.

"Arthur! Yes...I promise. I fucking promise. Just... _stay_." His voice choked on the last word and he licked his mouth, kissing over Arthur's face and mouth, getting no response. Eames had seen people die enough times in his life to know that it's not some beautiful thing where the soul leaves the body, or even a death rattle. But he never realized how they just stop being. One second Arthur is breathing, and beautiful, and dangerous and the next he just...isn't. There was no justice in someone like Arthur ending his life on a cold, lonely, concrete floor in a warehouse, like all of those actually terrible people that Eames had killed years ago. 

Eames gently set Arthur back on the ground with one last kiss to his forehead. He hunched over on his knees, his face buried in his palms, and allowed the sobs to wrack his body until he could control it again. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, reaching across to grab his and Arthur's guns.

He strode back over to the prone form of Saito. The man was still passed out, so Eames kicked him and shouted _oi_ a few times. Saito jerked awake but his eyes didn't focus as he mumbled, curling in on himself again.

Eames stepped down on one of the man's injured knee and put his full weight on it, grinning sadistically as Saito let out a painful scream. He continued to smile as Saito writhed on the ground under Eames' boot.

He'd promised Arthur that he'd get out, and he had every intention of keeping that promise, but first he had some things that he needed to take care of.


	16. Chapter 16

Eames wasn't content to lie back and let Arthur do all the work, no matter how many times Arthur pressed him back down with a laugh, Eames would surge back up to touch and kiss every part of Arthur that he could reach. He licked away sweat and soothed his hands up and down Arthur's arched spine, catching all the noises he could with his mouth. Arthur was so tight around him and wouldn't let Eames get any leverage. His long legs slung over Eames' hips, the pale skin in contrast to his own tan skin and black tattoos. Arthur braced his hands on Eames' stomach, scratching lightly at the hair there, and petting him. He leaned forward a little to bury his face in Eames' neck and rocked his hips back and forth, clenching around Eames' cock, angling his hips to find his prostate, not allowing Eames to help. He was using Eames for his own pleasure and Eames wasn't all that keen to stop him. He just wanted to fuck up into him; grab Arthur's slim hips hard enough to leave bruises and take him hard. But Eames was only able to thrust a little, lifting Arthur a few inches before Arthur squeezed his thighs and stopped moving again until Eames behaved and lay still, wrecked and panting.

He could hear himself begging, muttering _please, please, please_ into Arthur's skin. Arthur smiled and twisted his hips viciously, putting an end to the muttering, Eames crying out and arching his back.

Eames may complain out loud, but really he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. His Arthur, whole and alive. He thumbed over the scar on the man's flat stomach and, with a growl, caught Arthur up and flipped them around until Arthur's back hit the mattress. 

"Bloody tease. You're lucky I love you."

Arthur arched a brow and rolled his hips up. "Am I?"

His voice was low and hoarse, and Eames groaned as he picked up the pace, fucking hard into Arthur. He was talking again but this time it was _"I'm sorry, so sorry, sorry, sorry."_ His face was wet and he couldn't tell if it was from sweat or tears.

"I love you, Eames," Arthur reached up to brush Eames' fringe out of his eyes and came, with his eyes shut tight and his mouth wide open.

***

Eames woke up with a hard dick, still dressed in his bloody clothes. His face was wet, but he knew with certainty that it was from tears. He wiped them away as he willed his erection down. 

He was going to get out of town today. He'd promised Arthur. He'd just needed to sleep a little was all. He rolled over and sat up, planting his boots on the floor. Arthur would be in a strop over the state of the sheets. But Arthur wasn't here to give him shit any more, so who cared? He stood up and went to the closet to pull out his duffel bag and begin packing. It took him longer than it should have because he kept stopping to smell Arthur's clothes, trying not to cry into them. Not because he didn't want to cry, but because he was worried it would somehow cover up the smell of Arthur. He packed more than three quarters of the bag with Arthur's shirts and pajamas. He could always buy new clothes for himself, but he wouldn't be able to replace this last little piece of Arthur. He reached to the back to grab another bag and his hands hit a cardboard box. He leaned in to drag it out and found Arthur's precise handwriting spelling out his sister's name and address on the side. He hadn't sealed it yet; Eames remembered him saying he needed a few more things. He reached in and pulled out a soft plush lamb, its white fur curling around its glass eyes. He stroked a finger down its stomach, tears blurring his vision and traces of blood marring it's bright white newness.

He'd started with Saito and the man had been stoic, taking the torture well. At least he'd tried to at first; by the time Eames had gotten done with him he was unrecognizable - a complete gibbering mess. Before Eames had rendered him speechless, save for a few pained moans, he'd told him that it had been Cobb. He'd sold out Arthur just for the pure misery of it.

Cobb had been less satisfying, he'd been almost pleased to see him, relief washing over his face when he realized Eames was there to kill him. Prolonging it had brought no satisfaction, so he'd just shot the man to end it. He felt drained after, standing over the man's body. He regretted it a little; now Cobb got to be with the love of his life. He'd stumbled home in the dark, through back alleys, where he'd passed out on the bed.

He put the lamb back in the box and shut the flaps, setting it by the door as he quickly changed his clothes, using a damp cloth to get the worst of the blood stains off his skin. He couldn't be bothered to shower, there was an itch under his skin urging him up and out the door, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, gun in its holster, safe emptied of all its money and forged papers.

He looked around one more time and didn't feel any kind of pain or nostalgia. He had good memories of Arthur being here, but it wasn't home anymore. He hiked up the box and took it with him out to Arthur's ratty old car. He'd need something else soon but it'd do for now.

He jogged back inside and scooped up Arthur The Cat, petting him hard between the ears. It was probably stupid to try and take it with him, but he'd figure it out as he went along; there was no way he was leaving Arthur's namesake behind. Eames made a nest for him in a box on the floorboard and started the engine. Arthur The Cat mewled and curled up, yawning as he pulled away from the kerb.

He hit the city limits just as the sun was setting, and the bayou lit up with purples and golds as the sun sank below its murky waters. He drove across bridges, cypress hanging over and crowding the shoulder, his headlights a circle in the dark. He smoked frantically, his fingers still smelling like blood, and he knew he had some still embedded under his nails.

He'd find a hotel once he got tired. A shower. Right now he didn't want to sleep and dream. He just wanted to drive and put as many miles as he could between his past and his future. He had made a promise after all, and he had every intention of keeping it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Heather and I thought of this, we actually had no idea that death fic was such a controversial idea. So we really appreciate everyone sticking with it and hope that you enjoyed it, even if it made you sad. 
> 
> From here on out it's going to be all fluff and smut. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> My [ tumblr.](http://sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com/) Pictures of Tom and Joe and Food. What more could you ask for?


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